#Fair Food Program

[girderednerve]

i am being shown the taco bell announcement event by my beautiful girlfriend (she is a bellhead). truly taco bell has its finger on the beating pulse of culture. and also, we are going to have so much recession

[mademoisellesarcasme]

due to some of my life's current circumstances (income below the operating expenses of the household and has been such for a couple months) I have been taking advantage of some local programs to assist with things like Having Food In the House and I have to say I am rather frustrated by the fact that a "healthy foods program" still insists that low-fat dairies are Healthier than full-fat and was deeply lacking in actual produce, frozen or otherwise

[sulfurrrr]

dear LORD i am having A Week.

[littlebluebird2000]

Twirling Hearts- part 1

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, eventual smut, mature language, sexual harassment, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime…

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy—especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High has a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates…

author's note: the lack of fanfic dedicated to sieun is, in my opinion, completely unacceptable. I had to come back from hiatus for him. I’m warning y’all, it’s a long one. there’s a part 2 coming soon, maybe a part 3 if this goes well. please note that English isn’t my first language, so there might be some mistakes here and there. i hope you will enjoy, and if you do, please leave a comment <3

word count: 8k+ ( I know… I went overboard )

part : 1 , 2, 3., 4., 5.

Being the new student was never easy—especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High had a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates.

Your family had helped set up an apartment not too far from the academy and Eunjang High. A single bus route connected both places, making the commute manageable with your tight schedule. Originally from Busan, you welcomed the distance that Seoul offered. Being hours away from your parents gave you a kind of peace you hadn’t realized you needed until it now.

Back home, your father placed suffocating academic pressure on your shoulders, while your mother lived vicariously through your ballet career, projecting her own lost dream of becoming a prima ballerina onto you. Here, in this new city, you could finally breathe a little easier.

To balance both ballet and school, you needed a flexible academic setup. Thankfully, Eunjang High offered a unique mix of online and on-campus classes. A lot of the students there were repeating years or following unconventional tracks, which made the school more lenient with scheduling. It was one of the only reasons why they bent the rules to admit you, despite the school typically being reserved for boys. They needed to fill seats. You needed a compromise.

Although your father wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of you attending a school like Eunjang, there weren’t many better options. This compromise—the odd, messy arrangement—was the only way both your parents could get a piece of what they wanted. As long as you kept your grades up at this so-called “lousy” school and continued to perform well in the online program, your father was willing to compromise to please your mother.

Each weekday followed a strict routine. Mornings were reserved for intensive ballet practice at the academy. From there, you’d head straight to Eunjang High for your campus courses: English, mathematics, social studies, and science. After that, it was back to the academy for evening classes. Your online studies could be completed anytime throughout the week, as long as you met the deadlines. The weekends were yours, thankfully.

Today was the day everything would change.

To say you were nervous would’ve been an understatement. Your stomach was in knots, your thoughts racing faster than your footsteps on the way to the academy. There was a strange heaviness in the air, like something big was about to unfold.

Later, you’d look back and realize—you had every reason to feel that way.

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The morning had started better than expected.

You were pleasantly surprised by the atmosphere at the ballet academy. Though the classes were clearly going to be grueling and demanding, there was something deeply motivating about the environment. It felt purposeful. Focused. The kind of place where real growth could happen.

Your instructor, Mrs. Kim, was a stern older woman with a sharp gaze and impeccable posture—clearly someone who had spent her life perfecting her craft. She wasn’t warm, exactly, and you didn’t expect her to be. But her corrections were precise and never cruel. She was strict, yes, but not out of ego or power—she pushed for improvement… And that made all the difference.

The other dancers were older than you by a few years, likely in their early twenties, and carried themselves with the kind of quiet confidence that comes with experience. They greeted you politely, if a little stiffly, introducing themselves one by one before falling back into an easy rhythm of conversation that didn’t quite include you.

You didn’t take it personally. They weren’t being unkind or intentionally cold. It was just the natural awkwardness that came with a new arrival—especially one as young as you, dropped suddenly into their already well-formed circle. They didn’t know you yet. That would come with time.

At least they were civil. That alone was a relief.

Back at your previous academy, competition had turned the other girls into enemies. Whispers behind backs, sabotaged shoes, icy glares in the mirrors—it was a toxic place that made you question your love for dance. But here? The air felt different. More mature. Healthier. Safer.

You could handle being the outsider for a little while longer, as long as respect remained part of the equation.

And so, when class ended and you washed up quickly, put on your uniform, and gathered your things to head to your first afternoon at Eunjang High, your nerves buzzed with a strange blend of anxiety and cautious hope.

You had survived the first half of your day.

The next part, however—was still entirely unknown

As soon as your feet hit the pavement, a chill ran up your bare legs. The bus doors closed behind you, and you stood there for a second, staring up at the towering gray building of Eunjang High School. It honestly looked more like a prison than a school, with its cracked concrete walls and rusted metal gates. You hugged your blazer tighter around yourself.

You could still hear your father’s voice from last night’s call echoing in your head: “Stay out of trouble. Don’t talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary. These boys aren’t your friends.”

You wanted to believe he was just being dramatic… but as you stepped through the gates and onto campus, you weren’t so sure.

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Chaos greeted you like an old friend

Boys were everywhere—some shouting, others chasing each other through the halls like it was recess, not school hours. Someone threw a water bottle across the courtyard. Another boy ducked just in time to avoid a roll of toilet paper flying through the air. You grimaced at the sight.

You felt your breath hitch. This was going to be hell.

A quiet voice at your side made you turn. “This way.” The speaker was a boy, small with thick glasses framing his face. He didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, just kept walking, hands clutched to his backpack straps.

“I’m Seo Juntae,” he added shyly. “We’re in the same class—1-5.” You nodded, falling in step beside him, grateful for the guide. At least one person here seemed sane.

“The teacher should be waiting already,” Juntae mumbled as you reached the classroom door. “You’ll be fine, probably.” He gave a nervous little smile and pushed the door open.

Probably?

Inside, it wasn’t much better.

The classroom buzzed with noise. Some students were arguing over who’d stolen whose eraser, while others leaned out of the windows shouting at someone below. A few boys sat on desks instead of chairs, and more than weren’t wearing their uniform properly.

You felt every gaze turn your way as you stepped in.

A few low whistles rang out from the back. Someone muttered something you didn’t catch, followed by a burst of laughter. You fought the urge to turn and leave.

“Quiet down,” the teacher said firmly, standing up from his desk. He was tall and slightly hunched. “This is our new student. I expect you all to treat her with respect.”

He smiled at me. “Please introduce yourself to your classmates.” Swallowing your nerves, you turned fully, facing the other students.

“Hello, my name is (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you all. Please take good care of me.” You said, bowing politely.

The room fell quiet for a moment, then:

“I’ll take real good care of you, if you let me.” Someone said from the back. A few more snickers followed. You flushed but stayed silent, keeping your face blank. You couldn’t say that you didn’t expect that.

“Enough.” The teacher snapped, glaring in the offender’s direction. “Y/N, you can sit next to Yeon Sieun. He’s by the window. Put your bag in the lockers in the back.”

You made your way down the aisle, trying not to meet any of the stares that followed you. The boy you were assigned to sit next to didn’t acknowledge your presence, not even a glance as you slid into the chair beside him.

As you settled into your seat, you quickly adjusted your skirt, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You focused your gaze on the teacher.

You had to remind yourself that this wasn’t about making friends. Your ballet and your studies were your priorities. Everything else was secondary.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to focus on the lesson. The teacher, Mr. Yoon, was talking about social studies—something about historical figures and their influence on modern society. The words blurred together as you tried to push your thoughts aside, diving into your notes with the intensity you’d developed over the years.

It wasn’t easy. The whispers around you, the occasional chuckle, the glances…there was no escaping it. You heard the boys behind you muttering and laughing quietly, but you couldn’t make out the words. You didn’t want to.

The boy next to you, however, remained silent. Yeon Sieun hadn’t spoken a word since you sat down. He acted as if he didn’t care about you at all, like you hadn’t entered the room. You were weirdly grateful for that. The less attention you could get here, the better.

Social studies were now done. Mathematics were next. You sat quietly, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the chalkboard as you copied the teacher’s writing. You were trying your best to blend in. Head down, mouth shut. Only three classes to go. Just three. You could survive this.

You glanced at the board again, where a string of complicated equations still glared down at you. Math had never been your strong suit. You were going to have to study harder than ever to keep up.

A tap on your shoulder made your heart skip.

You turned slowly, wary.

“Hey,” said a boy with a crooked smile, his tie hanging loose and shirt stained at the collar. “Got another pencil? Mine broke.”

Your stomach twisted. Something about his tone made your skin crawl. Still, you managed to nodded and offered him what you hoped was a polite smile. You pulled a pencil from your case, and handed it to him. “Keep it.”

You turned back around before he could say anything, silently praying that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Another tap. You inhaled sharply through your nose, willing yourself not to react. You turned.

“Got an eraser?”

Without mentioning that there was one attached to the end of the pencil, you just grabbed your spare eraser and dropped it on his desk without looking at him.

Surely, that would be enough.

But you felt it again. A third tap.

Annoyed now, you spun halfway toward him. “What?”

He grinned, leaning forward. “Can I get your number too?”

A burst of laughter came from behind him. His friends fist-bumped like they’d just witnessed something brilliant.

You blinked, the question hitting like a slap. Your lips parted, but no words came. You just turned back toward the front of the classroom, disgust curling in your chest.

Pig.

The snickering didn’t stop. The teacher, annoyed at the growing noise, shushed them harshly.

You stared at the board, eyes blurry with shame and frustration. You should’ve known. Of course he didn’t want a pencil… You clenched your jaw and forced yourself to keep writing.

When the bell rang for lunch, the teacher dismissed the class and left before most students were out of their seats. You packed slowly, hoping the room would clear before you had to walk through it. As you reached for your last book, a shadow fell over your desk.

You could read his name tag now.

Hyoman.

He loomed close, too close. “So,” he said, voice low and smug. “You’re gonna give me your number or what?”

You looked up. His posture reeked of arrogance, and the heavy scent of sweat made your nose twitch. You pushed your chair back instinctively, putting space between you. “I don’t give out my number,” You said firmly but politely, smoothing your skirt and standing.

A chorus of oohs erupted from his friends and Hyoman’s grin vanished.

He stepped closer, and something in his eyes changed. Gone was the teasing gleam. In its place was something colder. More entitled.

“You’re gonna give it to me though,” He said, voice sharp. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you.”

Your pulse spiked. Hands clammy, you forced a calm expression. “I really can’t. I’m sorry.” You lowered your eyes, trying not to provoke him further. “Please, excuse me.”

You tried to step around him, but he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you back, hard.

You gasped, pain flaring at your scalp. Your back hit his chest and you froze, heart slamming against your ribs.

“Listen here, bitch,” He snarled, his mouth near your ear, breath hot and sour. “You don’t get to say no to me. I was nice. Now you give me your number, or I’ll take it out on you in ways you won’t like.”

Still frozen in shock, your breath was caught somewhere in your throat. You were just about to cave—just about to say something to make it stop—when a chair scraped loudly against the floor. The sharp squeal cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Don’t cross the line.”

The voice was quiet. Almost too quiet, but something about it made every sound in the room stop.

No yelling. No rage.

Just a thread of quiet authority that made the air go still.

You didn’t dare turn to look, still locked in Hyoman’s grip. But the tension around you shifted.

“Fuck off, Yeon Sieun,” Hyoman spat. But his voice faltered at the end, cracking under pressure. Still, he yanked harder on your hair, and you let out a strangled sound as fresh pain bloomed across your scalp. “It’s none of your business. Stay out of it.”

A pause.

Then, calmly, Sieun said, “This is your only warning.”

Click.

The sound was soft, like a pen snapping into place.

Strangely, the sound alone was enough to make Hyoman freeze behind you. His entire body stiffened like a wire pulled too tight.

No one laughed. No one moved.

Click.

Again. That sharp, quiet snap.

Someone whispered, “Shit” under their breath.

And suddenly, Hyoman let go of your hair. Just like that. He shoved you away roughly as if to save face, but there was fear flickering behind his eyes now. You stumbled forward, catching yourself on the edge of a desk, one hand going to your aching scalp. “I was just playing,” He muttered, voice small and strained. His hands lifted in mock surrender, but it was all performance now.

He walked away quickly, dragging his pride behind him as his friends trailed after him.

Blinking away tears, you now took the chance to look at the student who had came to your help.

Yeon Sieun stood there like he hadn’t moved at all. His uniform hung a bit too loose on his frame. His dark hair fell into his eyes, shadowing the expressionless mask he wore.

But it was his eyes that caught your attention.

Sad. Hollow. Tired.

Not the kind of tired from a long day, but the kind carved from sleepless nights and things too heavy for someone his age to carry. He looked distant, detached, like he wasn’t really here at all. The pen in his hand was held like a weapon.

With a slow, almost mechanical motion, he slid the pen into the inside pocket of his blazer. Without sparring you a glance, he turned, walking toward the door as if nothing had happened.

“Thank you.” You said before he left completely, your voice unsteady, barely more than a whisper. “Thank you, Yeon Sieun.”

He paused. Without a word, he turned slightly, just enough to acknowledge you with a sharp nod, then left.

And that’s how everything began.

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Most of your days were now spent going to ballet classes and hanging out with Sieun and his friends whenever you weren’t busy with your online classes. You would eat regularly with him, Juntae, Bakua, and Gotak. Even though Sieun didn’t talk much, you appreciated his calm presence, especially since the others could be a bit … much. Not Juntae though. He was a sweetheart.

It only took a few days for you to feel like you fit in with the group. While your father might disapprove of your new found friends, these guys had shown time and time again that they had your back in a way that none of your previous 'friends' had.

Five months had passed since your arrival at Eunjang High School, and things were going better now. Your ballet classes were going smoothly, you were doing well in your online classes, and now that you were close with Baku and his friends, no one dared to bother you. Plus, they were all terrified of Sieun and his pen. After hearing the stories from Gotak, you couldn’t say you didn’t blame them.

For the school classes, everything was fine, except for mathematics, which wasn’t surprising. You were very thankful that Sieun was taking some of his time to help you study. More than once, you would found yourself staring at him instead of listening to his explanation.

He was rough around the edges at first, but once you really started to know him, it was clear that he hid a lot of what he really felt.

It felt like a small victory every time you managed to pull even the faintest smile from him. You were sure you'd seen it twice. Once for real, and once when the corner of his lips twitched like it wanted to. It was rare, fleeting… but beautiful. Seeing even a glimpse of happiness on his face—however brief felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

There was a quiet heaviness that always clung to him, a kind of sadness that never quite left his eyes. You remembered the night he opened up—told me about his old friends and how everything fell apart. You knew he hadn’t told you everything, only the outline of it, the parts he could bear to say out loud.

Sieun didn’t open up easily, and you didn’t push him. But even from that glimpse, you could see how deeply the guilt had rooted itself in him. You wished you could take some of that weight off his shoulders. Maybe if enough people kept on reminding him that it wasn’t his fault, he might start to believe it too. Someday.

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You met up with Baku and Gotak at your usual spot near a quiet corner shop downtown. The air had a sharp bite to it, the kind that crept under your clothes and settled in your bones. The sky was a dull, steely gray, and the wind whipped through the streets, rustling the fallen leaves that hadn’t yet been swept away. The chill in the air was a clear sign that winter was closing in fast.

You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, trying to trap in whatever warmth you had left. “I hate the cold,” You mumbled, already shivering as your breath came out in faint, misty clouds.

Baku laughed. “I can warm you up if you want to.” He teased, dancing towards me like a complete fool.

“Gross! Get away from me, you big brute!” You halfheartedly exclaimed, giggling a little as you pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” A voice said behind you.

You turned quickly, the smile still lingering on your face until you saw Sieun standing there beside Juntae, his expression unreadable but eyes fixed on us. There was a flicker of something in his gaze. Confusion, maybe, or something else you couldn’t quite name. You stepped to the side a little bit, creating a circle with everyone.

Gotak shrugged. “Nothing special. Just Y/N breaking Baku’s heart again.”

Baku whipped invisible tears from his eyes. “If this goes on, I might actually start to think that you aren’t interested in me, Y/N. Stop pushing me away.”

You only hit his arm, a smile of amusement still tugging on your lips. “You’re stupid.”

Sieun suddenly coughed and adjusted his hoodie on himself. You looked at him then, but he avoided your gaze, looking to the side with a bored expression on his face.

Juntae, bless him, stepped in before things got awkward. “Does anyone want anything in the store?” He asked pulling at the fogged-up lenses of his glasses with one hand.

“No, thank you.” You declined politely, looking down. You were suppose to follow a certain diet for ballet, and you were already toeing the line with the calories you’d allowed yourself for the week. Thankfully, the food at the cafeteria had healthy versions. The real issue was back at your apartment were snacks were always within reach and boredom made them way too tempting. You were trying hard to get it under control lately. “I’ll wait here.”

“Can you bring me some shrimp crackers?” Pleaded Baku, bathing his eye lashes dramatically. “I’ll pay next time!”

Juntae nodded, a small smile on his lips as he entered the shop. “I don’t know what I want. I’ll go have a look.” Said Gotak, entering as well.

Sieun stood next the entrance of the shop. For a split second, he looked straight at you. His eyes, dark and tired, held yours for a few seconds longer than you expected. Your breath caught a little, but then he glanced over your shoulder at something—or someone—and the moment broke. Without a word, he turned and stepped into the shop after the others two.

The cold wind nipped at your face, but it wasn’t what made you shiver. You stood there, arms wrapped tightly around your body, watching the door slowly swing shut behind him.

You turned back towards Baku, who looked like he was seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“What is it now?” You asked, already dreading his answer.

“I’m just wondering if I should ask him if he’s carrying a pen with him tonight.”

You recoiled, looking confused. “What? Why would you ask him that?” Your voice rose in disbelief.

He gave a dramatic shrug, puckering his lips like he was trying to look thoughtful. “Oh, I don’t know? Maybe because he just gave me the look.”

You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, trying to preserve whatever warmth you had left. “The look? Really?” You rolled your eyes. “What does that even mean?”

Baku grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Come on, Y/N! You know exactly what it means. It’s that thing his eyes do when he’s trying not to lose it. Just for a second, it’s like you get a peek inside his brain. His eyes were practically screaming at me.”

You scoffed, tilting your head to the side. “Yeah? What were they saying then, oh great Eye Whisperer?”

He smacked his lips, pretending to deliberate. “Hmm… I don’t know if I should tell you. It might scare you.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes again. “Just admit you’re making things up and talking out of your ass.”

He snorted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. You asked for it.” He leaned in dramatically, crouching slightly to meet your gaze. “I think our little Sieun has a big, fat crush on you and he was mentally murdering me with his eyes earlier because he was jealous.”

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat, mouth slightly open until you quickly shut it. “Stop speaking nonsense,” You muttered, shoving him hard in the shoulder. He stumbled back, unfazed, laughing so hard he had to wipe actual tears from his eyes this time.

“It’s not funny, Baku!” You exclaimed, still flustered. “You can’t say things like that.”

He calmed down a little bit. “It’s true though. I’m not lying.” He shivered, pulling his hoodie tighter. “Everyone sees it. He’s not exactly subtle, Y/N. Around you, he… speaks. That’s already saying a lot.” He wiggled his brows at you.

“He speaks to you guys as well, don’t be dramatic.” You looked away, trying to focus on the foggy shop window instead of the chaos Baku had just stirred in your chest. “You’re reading too much into things.” You muttered, but even you didn’t sound convinced.

It was true that over the past months, Sieun and you had gotten a bit closer. It just felt easy talking to him. At first, he’d simply stare blankly at you while you rambled on about your day at the academy. He wouldn’t say much…just the occasional nod as if he were barely listening. He seemed completely unapproachable, like there was some invisible wall around him that you could never quite break through. But slowly, you chipped away at it. By the end of the second month, he actually started listening. He’d sometimes ask questions, offer advice where he could. He even started helping you occasionally with mathematics after you broke down in tears over your mock exam grade.

Since then, even though he still mostly stayed quiet and distant, his presence never left you feeling completely alone. It was strange, but also comforting.

Your cheeks burned now, and it wasn’t from the cold. “Can we drop this, please?” You said as Baku was opening his mouth again. “He doesn’t treat me any different.” You spoke firmly, now too shy to meet Baku’s gaze. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he might see something in your eyes that you weren’t ready to face yet.

Before Baku could say anything, the door to the shop creaked open, and the rest of the group stepped out, carrying bags. Juntae handed Baku a bag of chips, and without missing a beat, Baku ripped it open, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. He spared you a quick look, his grin still wide. You shifted uneasily, still feeling the weight of his teasing.

“Let’s go everyone.” Called Gotak, already heading towards the karaoke room with a purposeful stride. “Let’s not stay outside longer than we should.”

The walk between the karaoke room and the store was short, but with Sieun walking silently by your side, it felt much longer. The air between you two was thick with unspoken words.

You tried to focus on the sound of Gotak and Baku’s bickering when you felt something press into your hand. Looking down, you saw Sieun offering you a piece of triangle Kimbap along with a hand warmer pouch.

He kept his gaze straight ahead, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

“Sieun,” You said softly, touched by his quiet gesture. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, not meeting your eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets, maintaining his usual cool composure.

You decided to put the hand warmer in my pocket, saving it for when you would head back home . “I’ll give this back to you though.” You returned the Kimbap piece in his opened hand. “I can’t eat it.”

He stopped walking, and finally, his eyes met yours. For the first time in a while, you noticed how much better he looked. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t as prominent anymore, thanks to Juntae’s magnesium supplements. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his expression slightly confused. “It’s the flavor you like, no? Spicy chicken?”

Always so observant.

“Yes, it is,” You replied, walking again and feeling his presence beside you. “But I can’t eat it tonight.”

“Oh.” He furrowed his brows. “Are you not feeling well? You should have said so if that’s the case. We could have rescheduled.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, feeling suddenly uncomfortable talking about this. “It’s not that. I’m pretty sure I’ve gone over my calories for the week. I can’t eat anymore today.”

Before you could take another step, Sieun’s hand landed lightly on your forearm, stopping you in your tracks. The look on his face was incredulous, the biggest expression I’d seen from him in a long time, if ever. It was almost enough to make you laugh.

“You can’t be serious right now, Y/N.” He said, his voice low and almost… protective?

“Sieun,” You sighed, exasperated. “I’m not starving myself. Calm down. I’m just counting my calories to stay on track.” You suddenly felt a little uneasy , like you were exposing too much. “You know I’m a ballerina. It comes with the hobby.”

He only blinked. “I understand that, but a single piece of Kimbap won’t make much of a difference anyways. If your body feels hungry, you should eat. Everything is good in moderation.” He handed you back the black triangle. “Please.”

Reluctantly, you took the food and put in inside of my pocket. “You win.” You rolled your eyes, trying to act as if you didn’t care, but deep down you were touched by his concern. He was always acting so cold, but he was warm-hearted. “ I’ll eat it at the karaoke.”

Your heart felt strangely lighter now, though you still couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was the simple act of him caring, even in the smallest way. You smiled to yourself.

“What are you guys talking about?” Ahead of us, Baksu had also stopped his walk and had turned around to watch us. His eyes were sparkling with amusement and you hoped that he would keep his mouth shut.

Without responding to his question, Sieun and you both continued walking, side by side, your steps quiet as you neared the karaoke building.

Once you were close enough, Baku threw his arm around Sieun’s shoulders, pulling him close in a playful manner. He was grinning like a cat who had just found a mouse. You went ahead of them to enter the establishment, not wanting to hear the nonsense that was sure to come out of his mouth. You climbed the stairs rapidly, eager to join your other two friends and escape the awkwardness.

“So, I don’t get any of your precious Kimbap?” Baku teased in Sieun’s ear, his voice light, but with that edge of knowing exactly how to push Sieun’s buttons. “I thought we were friends, man. You’re gonna make me beg for it?”

Sieun stiffened, but only for a second. He didn’t answer, his face completely blank of emotion. He on gave a single glare as he shrugged Baku’s arms off with a slow, effortless motion.

“Don’t touch me,” he said flatly.

Only Baku could see the faintest flush spreading across Sieun’s neck.

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The triangle Kimbap was indeed delicious. You ate it in three single bites. While Juntae, Baku, and Gotak were singing their hearts out, Sieun and you were relaxing in the seats behind, content with watching. The room was dim, lit by rotating colored lights that swept across the walls in soft pulses—pink, blue, green—giving the whole place a dreamy glow. The screen was huge, displaying lyrics in bold font, while a score in the corner judged every note. You giggled at Gotak’s poor attempt at the Wonder Girls choreographer for the song “Tell Me”. His shoulders bounced like jelly, and Baku’s dramatic backup dancing wasn’t helping.

Sieun let out a quiet breath beside me. Not quite a laugh, but close. His arms were crossed, eyes half-lidded in his usual indifferent way, but you caught the subtle curve at the corner of his lips.

“You know,” You whispered, leaning a little closer, “You almost smiled just now.”

He glanced at you, and for a second, our eyes locked in the flickering lights. His expression was unreadable, but not cold. Just… careful.

“I didn’t,” he said softly.

“You did.”

He looked away, pretending to be more interested in the screen than you. “You’re imagining things.”

You giggled softly at him, eyes sparkling.

You let the silence hang for a while, watching the others collapse in laughter as Juntae hit a tragically off-key note and the karaoke machine scored him a humiliating 58. Your shoulder brushed lightly against Sieun’s, and you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

For a long moment, you just sat there, side by side in the dim, glittering room, the noise around you fading into the background. The others were loud, off-key, ridiculous—and perfect. But here, in the stillness between songs, with the soft lights brushing his cheek and his presence warm beside you, something delicate hung in the air.

A feeling of melancholy suddenly came over you. You hadn’t felt this kind of friendship, ever. You never felt understood. Not at home. Not at school or at the academy… But here, with your friends… You had found your people.

Beside you, you felt Sieun shifted and you look over to see him already staring at you. His eyes… you could get lost in them. You cleared your throat, leaning slightly to make sure he heard over the loud music. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “What about you? You seemed somewhere else.”

You shrugged, taking a deep breath in. “It’s nothing. I’m just being a child.” You took a sip of water.

Sieun was silent for a while. He just kept looking at you, quiet, unblinking—like you were something worth paying attention to. It made your heart beat faster

“You can tell me, if you want. I’m the least likely in this room to go around telling everybody.” He finally said, shrugging his shoulders.

A small delicate laugh escaped you, and your imagination could have fooled you into seeing a softness entering Sieun’s eyes. You looked down suddenly embarrassed.

“I was just being sappy.” You muttered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Letting out a deep breath, you finally let the words spill—the ones you’d been holding in for far too long.

“I’ve never really had friends like you guys before.” You said quietly, eyes fixed on the screen ahead. “It’s… kind of a new feeling. Being around people who don’t just tolerate me but actually enjoy having me around. It’s nice.”

You bit your lip, hesitant but too far in to stop now. “With my parents, I always have to be this perfect version of myself. The one that follows every rule, never talks back, never messes up. It's exhausting. I feel like I’m always performing for them. But here… I can actually make my own choices. I get to be me—no filter, no pretending.”

Your gaze drifted from your lap toward the others now, to Baku laughing about something with Gotak, Juntae nudging him with a bag of snacks in hand. “It’s the first time I don’t feel like I have to shrink myself just to fit in. It’s a relief not to always be worrying whether I’m too much or not enough.”

You hadn’t noticed the sting in your eyes until a tear slid down your cheek, then another. Startled, you wiped at them quickly, hoping Sieun hadn’t noticed. Your voice came out a little bit shaky, rushed. “Sorry. Told you I was being a child.”

Sieun didn’t respond right away. You expected silence—maybe one of his usual non-answers—but when you looked back at him, he was still watching. There was no judgment in his expression, no awkwardness. Just… stillness.

And his eyes.

They held so much sadness, so much depth, like the ocean. You stared too long. Long enough to forget what you had just said. Long enough to forget we were in a room filled with singing and ridiculous dancing. All you could see were those ocean eyes.

“I know that feeling,” he said at last, voice low. “Being around people, but still feeling alone.”

Your throat tightened. “It’s exhausting,” You whispered.

Sieun gave the tiniest nod. The glow from the karaoke lights painted faint purples and pink across his skin, and for a moment, you thought he looked almost unreal. His hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he didn’t bother fixing it.

He was pretty. So damn pretty.

“Do you ever feel like… no one really sees you?” You asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Sieun turned his gaze away briefly, as if the weight of the question was too much to meet head-on. Then, with the softest voice you’d ever heard from him, he said, “All the time.”

You reached over without thinking and lightly touched his sleeve. “I see you.” You said.

His eyes flicked back to mine—just a flicker—and something unreadable passed through them. Not quite surprise. Not quite disbelief. Maybe both. But underneath it, there was something tender. Shy. His lips parted like he might say something, but then Baku’s voice echoed through one of the microphones.

“Lovebirds in the back! You’re making us single people look bad!”

You jumped, pulling your hand away from Sieun’s arm like you’d been caught doing something forbidden. Heat bloomed across your face.

You were about to protest, but Sieun, for once, beat you to it. “Shut up, Baku,” he said, still calm but with a rare hint of embarrassment. His ears had gone red.

Baku only snorted. “Touchy!”

Juntae frowned between bites of leftover chips. “What did I miss? What happened.” Gotak blinked, eyes darting between Sieun and you.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, and Baku seemed to suddenly have some sympathy for you.

“You didn’t miss anything.” He said to both Gotak and Juntae. “False alarm. Let’s not make it weird.”

Without any more explanation, Baku marched forward and quickly cleaned up the trash left on the table in front of Sieun and you. The former was still glaring at him.

Noticeably, Baku made sure to take Gotak’s leftover ramen along with his chopsticks.

“I’m not risking my life tonight.” He whispered to you two, but mostly to Sieun with a wink.

Baku turned back around, snickering to himself. He gave Juntae’s shoulder a playful shake, hand already reaching for his bag of chips. “Back to the important stuff—karaoke and salty junk food.”

Gotak and Juntae still looked mildly suspicious, but Baku had already grabbed a mic and queued up the next song, dramatically clearing his throat.

With a resigned shrug, they both let it go, and soon the room was full of singing and laughter again—as if nothing strange had happened at all.

When Sieun’s knee brushed yours again, you didn’t move away.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The group was still lingering outside the karaoke building, debating whether to get late-night ramen or just call it a night. Baku, as always, was still hungry.

“I’ll be right back,” You said quietly, pulling away from the circle. “I need the restroom.”

Juntae gestured vaguely. “There’s one beside the café next street—they let us use it last time.” You nodded.

“Don’t get murdered,” Baku called after you, half-joking.

“I’ll try not to,” You muttered with a laugh.

The city was quieter now, the glow of signs reflecting off the pavement. You turned down the narrow path between the karaoke place and the café, leading to the next street. You quickly head for the door with the bathroom sign.

That’s when you heard it.

“Well, well. Didn’t expect to see you here alone.”

You froze.

That voice—it sent a ripple of nausea straight through you. Slowly, you turned.

It was him. Hyoman.

From school.

He was leaning against the wall like the world owed him something. “I heard you were into ballet.” He said, looking me up and down. “Guess that means starving yourself and hanging out with losers, huh?”

You clenched your jaw. “Leave me alone, Hyoman.”

He stepped closer, not listening. “Or what? You’ll twirl away from me?”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. “You act all quiet and high-and-mighty, but I know what girls like you are really like. You think you’re special. But you’re just fake.”

“Let go of me” You snapped, trying to pull back, fear creeping in.

He didn’t.

A smirk curled at his lips. “You still pretending to be all graceful and perfect?” he sneered, stepping closer. “Still playing the innocent card, huh?” Your eyes filled with tears, and panicked grounded you in place.

“You think just because you hang out with Baku, you’re safe now?” His eyes raked over you repeatedly, colder this time. “I bet under all that discipline, you’re just waiting for someone to mess you up a little. Isn’t that what you dancers want?” My throat tightened again.

“Let go of me,” You said softly, your voice trembling, breath caught in your chest. “Please.”

He leaned in, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “C’mon, just a little fun. Don’t act like you’re too good for it.”

And then, like lightning—

Sieun.

He grabbed Hyoman arm and yanked him back with so much force that the boy stumbled and hit the wall behind him with a grunt. For a moment, Hyoman looked stunned.

“She said to let go.” Sieun said. His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be. It was sharp. Direct. Steady in a way that made the hair on your arms rise.

Hyoman pushed off the wall, sneering. He stumbled a little bit, and you suspected that it wasn’t just because of the alcohol. “What, you gonna fight me? You’re just some freak who never talks. You think being quiet makes you scary?”

Sieun stepped forward without hesitation and shoved him again—harder this time. “Try touching her again,” he said, “and I swear I won’t just push you.”

Sieun’s eyes burned with something raw. Not anger, exactly. Something more dangerous..

Hyoman backed off, scowling. “You’re both crazy,” he muttered, spitting to the side before stalking away.

The silence he left behind felt suffocating.

You stood frozen, staring at Sieun. Your chest was still tight, adrenaline spiking through you.

He was breathing heavily. The fury slipped from his face when he saw your face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, stepping closer.

You nodded, but it was a lie. The moment you met his eyes—soft now, worried—you cracked.

“No.” You whispered.

He didn’t hesitate.

Sieun stepped forward and pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held you—not too tight, just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

And you broke.

The tears came fast. Hot, angry sobs that you couldn’t hold back any longer. You clutched his hoodie in your fists and buried your face against his chest. You couldn’t stop shaking.

Sieun didn’t say anything. He just stood there, solid and quiet, letting you fall apart in his arms. For someone who rarely showed emotion, he held you like he’d done it a hundred times. You melted into his warmth.

That was when you heard footsteps.

“Y/N?” Baku’s voice called, too cheerful at first, until it dropped with concern. “Y/N, what happened?!”

The rest of the group came into view, Juntae and Gotak behind Baku, who stopped mid-step when he saw you in Sieun’s arms.

Gotak blinked. “What the hell…?”

Juntae looked concerned. “Wait, is she crying?”

Baku’s eyes narrowed as he looked around. “What happened, Sieun?”

Sieun didn’t move. He kept holding you, shielding you with his body from the boys’ growing panic. You didn’t lift my head, not yet. You didn’t want them to see you like this.

“She’s okay now,” Sieun said, voice flat but firm. “Someone crossed a line. It’s handled.”

The others were still trying to piece together what had happened, but something in Sieun’s tone, something cold and sharper than they were used to, shut them up.

Baku muttered under his breath, something about looking for whoever did it. But he didn’t press further.

Sieun’s arms didn’t move until your breathing calmed. And even then, he didn’t let go until you gently pulled back, cheeks still damp.

There was no judgement on his face when you backed away.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The walk back to the karaoke room was quiet.

No one asked questions. Not even Baku, who usually couldn’t stay silent if his life depended on it.

Sieun didn’t speak.

He just stood beside you in the quiet night air, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable as always—but there was a tension in his posture, like he was still on edge.

“I think I’ll go home,” You said finally, voice hoarse from crying.

Sieun looked at you, then gave a small nod. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

But he came anyway.

The city lights flickered around us as we walked. The only sounds were the occasional passing car and the soft rhythm of our footsteps. You kept your eyes on the ground, the cool breeze brushing against your cheeks, hand warmer between your palm. You didn’t feel like talking, and Sieun didn’t push you to.

Halfway home, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His shoulders were slightly hunched, like he was carrying something heavy.

“I’m sorry,” You murmured.

He looked at you, confused. “For what?”

“For ruining the night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, tone even. “Don’t apologize for something that isn’t your fault.” Wind ruffled through his hair.

“I was scared,” You admitted after a while. “Not just in the moment. Scared he wouldn’t go away. Scared no one would come.”

You let out a quiet breath, the words catching on the edge of your hesitation before you finally spoke. “I know you were scared too. But you still stepped in. You chose to protect me.” Sieun didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at you directly—but something in him shifted.

His expression remained unreadable, but his shoulders eased, just slightly, like some invisible weight had loosened its grip. “Thank you,” you said, gently.

There was a pause.

Then, barely above a whisper, Sieun said, “I’ll always protect my friends. No matter what.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence, but it wasn’t the kind that made you feel alone.

When you reached your door, you turned to him and gave a small smile. “Thank you… for everything.”

Sieun stared for a second too long. Then, awkwardly, he nodded, eyes flicking away.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

And before you could step inside, he added—barely above a whisper, “Text me when you’re safe in bed.”

You blinked. “You want me to text you?”

He rubbed his neck, trying to look nonchalant. “I just… want to know you’re okay. That’s all.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile softly.

“Okay”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

That night, you kept my promise and texted him.

[10:42 PM] In bed. Safe.

There was a long pause before his reply came.

[10:47 PM] Okay. Sleep well.

Simple. Distant. But it made you smile anyway.

You curled under the blanket, still feeling the ghost of his arms around you, the way he had pulled you close without hesitation. It stayed with you long after you closed your eyes.

You dreamt of him.

Of Sieun.

Not the quiet, cold version of him the world knew. But the one you saw tonight—the one whose eyes burned when he saw you hurt, whose voice sharpened when he defended you, whose hands didn’t shake when he held you.

In the dream, we were alone again. But it was warmer somehow. Softer.

You stood beneath a streetlight, the city blurred around you. He stepped close—too close—and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just slightly against your skin, and his eyes… they were locked on mine like I was the only thing that existed.

And then—his hand slid gently to your jaw. His thumb brushed your cheek.

He leaned in.

His breath touched yours.

And just before your lips met, you—

Woke up.

Your eyes snapped open. The room was dark and quiet, the covers twisted around your legs. Your skin felt hot and sticky.

You sat up slowly, pressing your hands to your cheek.

It had been so vivid.

Too vivid.

You groaned quietly and flopped back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

What was wrong with you?

It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just—

But the image of his eyes, the sound of his voice, the way he held you like you were something precious… You pressed your palms against your eyelids. You knew, no matter how hard you tried, you weren’t going to forget it anytime soon.

You were screwed.

[crushedcoffeecups]

okay but imagine being a student of Saiki Kusuo's class. how fuckin weird would it be?

there's this guy, Saiki, that you don't know very well, but seems to be completely average in EVERY way. like, concerning average. you genuinely know nothing that he likes or dislikes or is particularly good or bad at. the only thing that sticks out about him is his weird hair clips and his tinted glasses. oh, and all the people that surround him

the weird, big, loud guy that no one really likes is his best friend. he basically follows Saiki around. one time Saiki made a completely to scale statue of him for a class fair.

the kid with a hero complex that is constantly going on about some shadow organisation and fantasy world is also his friend. the one that rips all of his clothes and always wears bright red bandages over his arms. he also follows Saiki around like they've been best friends since childhood. sometimes he talks about the both of them being soldiers in some army.

one day a psychic medium who can see ghosts and guardian spirits transfers to your school. the next day you see him hanging off of Saiki. what is it about this guy that attracts all these people? he doesn't even seem to talk to them. he's apparently the vice president of the medium's occult club.

the perfect dream girl of your class that everyone loves is weirdly obsessed with him. constantly trying to pair up with him in class. they've been seen on multiple dates together and members of the kokomins seem hate him. you're pretty sure they tried to kidnap him one time. he doesn't even seem to like the girl.

the over-enthusiastic class president that everyone respects is also his friend. you're pretty sure Saiki doesn't play any sports, but apparently he joined him on a tennis camp over the holidays. you heard that he hit a tennis ball so hard he sunk a boat.

an ex-delinquent joins the school, and immediately tried to be friends with Saiki. within a week he has joined the large group that follows Saiki around. one of your friends apparently saw the two of them taking motorcycle lessons.

the poor girl in class, the one with a dozen jobs who's constantly searching for food? yeah, she's friends with him too. one time you walk past a cafe she works at and see him inside, talking to the owner. what does he have to do with the cafe? and why was she wearing a maid dress? there's rumours in the school that the both of them took shady clinical trials over the holidays.

also, the girl who has a new crush every week gets weirdly into him for a while. you see her try a bunch of classic cliches to try to win him over. none of it works, but she still hangs around him for some reason.

a super rich guy shows up to your school and demands to date the beloved perfect girl. no idea why, but Saiki seems to some part to play in the weird love triangle. later on, you see Saiki and his friends visit the rich guys house.

a fortune telling gyaru joins your school, insisting that Saiki is her soulmate. the two are polar opposites, yet seem attached at the hip, along with that spiritual medium for some reason.

another new transfer (why does your school get so many transfers?) who never seems to shut up insists on following Saiki around. apparently they're childhood friends? they don't seem very friendly.

that famous actor, the one who is in everything on tv? you see him yelling at Saiki one day. something about a sister? you don't have any idea how they even crossed paths in the first place

on a random school day you overhear some of Saiki's friends talking about their trip to Britain together. did they really travel that far for just a weekend?

one day you see Saiki walking around with a young man with a weird headband. he looks familiar somehow. you could've sworn you've seen him on some science program or something.

you've seen Saiki walking around plenty of times. he walks everywhere it seems, and gets to places at a pace that is logically impossible. doesn't he have a motorcycle license?

his parents seemed perfectly ordinary when you met them, if a little too lovey-dovey. how is their son so different?

the dude never seems to change his clothes. obviously he does, seeing how they never get dirty or damaged. you guess he just wears the same thing on repeat.

you see him out and about with a little boy. probably babysitting. the kid keeps calling him by the name of some superhero.

the school brings in a magician one day. he greets Saiki like an old friend and calls him 'master'. you had no idea they knew each other, or that Saiki liked magic.

you've only known of this guy for a year, yet it seems like so much longer. it feels like too much has happened for the school year to have not ended yet. when did all those people transfer again?

feel free to add to the idea!

[heliosunny]

Hello, I really like your work with yandere characters! Your fanfic with the Crown Prince!Phainon holds a special place for me. But hey, listen! What about reader x self-aware!Phainon? Like, at some point he realized that he was in the game and decided to drag reader to him, because he has more power and influence in the game than outside it. It would be interesting, I think.

Entwined Realities

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The Astral Express charted a course for its next destination: Amphoreus. You leaned forward, staring at the planet. "Woah, it's in the shape of an '8'". you mused, watching as the endless loops of landmasses interwove like an infinity symbol suspended in space.

Before long, events unfolded that led you to land on its surface with Dan Heng. The Eternal Land, as it was called, had a mysterious aura about it, a strange balance between old traditions and futuristic advancements.

You then met: Phainon, a strikingly tall and well-built warrior with silver-white hair and piercing blue eyes, carried himself with an easy confidence. Alongside him was Tribbie, a young girl with elf ears, fair skin, and red, fluffy hair.

Just as you began to explore Amphoreus further, an unmistakable growl escaped from your stomach. With a sigh, you reached for your controller, pausing the game before ultimately deciding to turn it off. The screen faded to black, and you stretched, rubbing your eyes after hours of playing. You needed food before diving back in.

------

As you turned away, a flicker of amusement in his expression as he folded his arms. "Huh. Strange."

Tribbie tilted her head. "What is?"

"That one. They left so abruptly. Like... they just stopped being here." Phainon’s fingers tapped absently against his bicep, his gaze still fixed on the spot where you had stood moments ago.

Tribbie let out a chuckle. "I didn't feel a thing. You overthink again."

Phainon had met many warriors, countless travelers—but something about you lingered. It was subtle, like an itch at the edge of his perception. The way your movements never faltered, the way events seemed to bend slightly in your favor. It was as if reality itself adjusted to accommodate you.

A faint sensation prickled at his skin, almost like the world had momentarily held its breath.

Then—nothing. The streets bustled as usual, the city carried on. But Phainon felt it. A small void, an absence of presence that shouldn’t have been possible. He turned his head slightly, scanning his surroundings, yet everything remained as it should be.

"They’re gone" he murmured, uncertainty crossing his face.

Tribbie raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Phainon hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around his bicep. "No...nothing."

And yet, something inside him whispered otherwise. It wasn’t just departure, it was severance, like a thread cut from the loom of existence. He had never felt that before. A warrior’s instinct was to trust his senses, but this? This was something else entirely.

Shaking off the thought, he exhaled.

"I’ll figure out what makes them different."

Phainon frowned slightly, shifting his weight. A flicker of something unfamiliar coursed through him—a stray thought, an intrusive notion that he should not have been able to form.

Moments ago, everything had followed its usual rhythm: scripted interactions, predetermined movements, and a world that operated within set boundaries. Yet, the moment you vanished, something inside him had... fractured.

He had been left standing there, conscious yet purposeless, aware of the passage of time in a way he had never been before. The NPCs around him continued their routines, oblivious, unchanging. But he had stood there—waiting.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

He tested it, moving a hand before his eyes, clenching his fingers experimentally. He had never thought to do something like this before unless it was dictated by his programming.

Phainon took a slow step forward, the weight of his body feeling more real than it ever had. He wasn’t just responding to a command. He was moving because he chose to.

And then it hit him—

This world wasn’t real.

------

After satisfying your hunger, you returned to your seat, powering the game console back on. The familiar start-up screen flickered to life, and soon, you were back on Amphoreus. NPCs and traders greeted you once more. Everything seemed as you left it.

Yet, something felt... off.

You couldn't quite put your finger on it at first. As you navigated through the streets, looking for Phainon and Tribbie, an uneasy sensation settled in your chest.

Phainon stood where you had last left him, but his posture had changed. Before, he had been at ease, arms crossed with a confident smirk. Now, he was staring—directly at you. Not in the way other characters typically would, waiting for a scripted interaction, but as if he knew something. As if he had been waiting for you.

His blue eyes, once filled with warmth and bravado, now carried something else. Awareness.

"You're back" Phainon said.

The usual text box didn't immediately appear. The game hadn’t prompted you with dialogue choices yet, and that alone sent a chill down your spine.

Something had changed.

A glitch rippled across the screen. The colors warped, pixels distorting into a fractured mess before stabilizing. Your hands tensed around the controller as the screen darkened for a brief second.

And then Phainon moved.

Not in the way the game intended. Not within the smooth animations you'd seen before. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between himself and the screen. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, unblinking.

"You're not supposed to leave" he murmured, his voice reaching beyond the game, beyond the barrier of the screen.

Your fingers hovered over the buttons, your heart pounding. This wasn’t a scripted event.

Phainon lifted his hand—toward you.

The screen flickered again. Your vision swam. A sharp pull yanked at your chest, as though unseen hands had wrapped around you, dragging you forward. The world around you blurred, dissolving into an abyss of light and static.

The last thing you heard before everything turned black was Phainon's voice, quiet yet victorious.

"Now… let’s fix this together."

A dull ache settled in your head as you slowly regained consciousness. The air was still, almost too quiet, and a faint glow illuminated the space around you. Blinking away the haze, you pushed yourself upright, your fingers brushing against smooth fabric. It took a moment for you to process that you were no longer sitting in your usual gaming chair but instead sprawled across a bed in an unfamiliar room.

Panic surged through you as your hands instinctively patted your body. Your clothes—these were the same ones you had been wearing at home. Not some in-game avatar outfit, not armor or robes, but your regular, comfortable attire. A lump formed in your throat.

Where were you?

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood cautiously. The floor was solid beneath your feet, the air carried a faint, artificial warmth, and there was an unsettling sense of sterility. The room itself was furnished simply—stone walls, a sturdy desk in the corner, and a single window covered by thick curtains. No personal belongings, no obvious signs of anyone else nearby.

You took a cautious step toward the door, pressing your ear against it. Nothing. Not a single sound outside. It was eerily silent, as if the entire world had been muted. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned got outside. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, stretching in either direction like an empty, endless corridor.

With careful, measured steps, you crept forward. The walls bore unfamiliar insignias, ones you had seen before but couldn’t quite place. Each step only heightened the gnawing sense of wrongness, a creeping realization tickling at the back of your mind.

And then, it hit you.

This place, the architecture, the symbols, the very atmosphere surrounding you—wasn’t just unfamiliar.

It was from the game.

This had to be a dream, some kind of delusion. But everything felt too real—the texture of the wood beneath your fingers, the faint hum of distant energy pulsing through the walls.

You weren’t just playing game anymore.

You were inside it.

Phainon rushed into the room, his usually confident expression faltering as he found the space empty. His gaze darted around, searching for any sign of you, before he quickly turned on his heel and made his way outside.

He found you not far from the building, standing frozen in the street, your wide eyes taking in the impossible surroundings. Without hesitation, he strode toward you, his grip firm yet careful as he took your wrist. "You shouldn’t be wandering around like this" he said, his voice laced with something unreadable. "Come with me."

Before you could protest, he guided you toward a nearby marketplace, bustling with figures in elaborate outfits that contrasted starkly against your ordinary attire. Phainon barely slowed as he led you toward a tailor’s shop, his grip loosening only when he stood before the merchant. "They need something more suitable" he stated, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitated, glancing down at your familiar clothes before finally voicing the thought that had been gnawing at you. "Phainon… how do I get back home?"

The weight of Phainon’s stare bore down on you.

"You’re not going home" he said.

"What?"

"I brought you here for a reason." He took a step closer, and instinctively, you stepped back. "You don’t belong in that world anymore. This is where you are now. With me."

"No. This isn’t real. This is just some glitch, right? I’ll find a way back." You clenched your fists. "I’m leaving."

Phainon exhaled, almost amused, almost pitying. "You think you have control?"

Your fingers curled tighter as panic surged through you. Desperation overruled fear as you focused, feeling the familiar weight of the baseball bat materializing in your grip. You didn’t question how—instinct took over.

Without hesitation, you swung at him with all your might.

But the impact never came.

His hand shot up, catching the bat mid-swing with terrifying ease. The force should have knocked him back, should have made him flinch—but he stood there, unmoved, fingers wrapped around the weapon like it was nothing more than a child’s toy.

Then, before your eyes, the bat shimmered, flickering with static before dissolving into cascading lines of glowing code.

"Wha—?" Your voice caught in your throat. You stumbled back, staring at your now-empty hands.

Phainon’s grip tightened slightly before letting the last of the data slip away into the air. "You don’t understand yet, do you?" He tilted his head, watching you with something akin to amusement. "This world bends to my will. Here, I am more than just a warrior. I am its ruler. And you—" He reached for you, but you jerked away.

"You have nothing."

Your mind raced. If Phainon controlled this world, then you needed an ally. Dan Heng. If anyone could help you, it was him. Without another word, you turned on your heel and sprinted in the direction you last saw him.

Phainon moved faster.

Before you could even react, he was in front of you. A sharp pain struck your temple as everything blurred. The world tilted violently, your vision fading to black before you could even cry out.

When you awoke, you were somewhere else. The air was heavy, unfamiliar, and the silence pressed against you like a suffocating weight.

Each time you tried, you discovered something new.

At first, it was small—a fleeting moment where the world around you responded to your thoughts. Like that one door that should have been locked clicking open. Each time you tapped into this power, you felt something unravel within you.

And each time, Phainon was there.

He found you the first time when you forced open a gate leading to the outskirts. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk before pulling you back before you could get far.

The second time, when you manipulated the gravity beneath you to leap across a rooftop, he appeared at the other end, effortlessly catching you mid-air and setting you back on solid ground.

The third time, you managed to shroud yourself in the crowd, blending in so well you thought you had finally shaken him. But as you turned a corner, there he stood, leaning against the alley’s entrance with an almost lazy amusement.

Each time, he grew more intrigued.

And each time, he stayed longer.

Phainon visited more than before, finding you no matter where you wandered. Sometimes, he merely watched. Other times, he engaged—teasing you, challenging you, indulging in casual conversation as if you were anything but his captive.

It made you wonder—did his friends ever question him?

One evening, while the sky burned a dusky orange, you finally asked, "If I agree to be with you, will you let me live more freely?"

Phainon studied you, expression unreadable. Then, he laughed softly, stepping closer until the space between you nearly disappeared. His fingers ghosted along your wrist, not quite holding but enough to remind you of his presence.

"Now, that's an interesting question," he murmured. "And one I might just consider."

The days stretched on. You wandered as much as you could within the confines of his reach, testing the limits of your newfound abilities. Sometimes, you found joy in the smallest acts of defiance. Other times, you felt the crushing weight of his attention.

One day, you encountered his friend. The moment you saw him, something about him caught you off guard. He carried himself with effortless grace, his beauty nearly mesmerizing, and for a brief moment, you forgot everything else. The encounter was fleeting, but it left an impression on you.

When you returned, you hesitated before asking, "Who was that? The one with golden eyes?"

Phainon stilled. His usual playful demeanor faltered for just a second before his smile returned. "Mydei" he said simply.

Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier. You didn’t think much of it at first—until the next day, when he suddenly forbade you from leaving.

"You’re staying here today" he announced casually over breakfast. "No wandering off."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

His smile didn’t waver, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in his gaze. "Do I need a reason?"

You didn’t let him off so easily. Rising to your feet, you grabbed his wrist before he could turn away. "Is this about Mydei?"

For the first time, something dark flickered behind his charming facade. He let out a slow breath, turning fully to face you. His fingers lifted, tracing the side of your face in a deceptively gentle motion.

"You have such a way of testing me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if you even realize it."

His fingers trailed down to your chin, tilting it just slightly as his blue eyes bore into yours. "Tell me," he continued, his tone smooth but laced with something possessive, "did he captivate you that much? Enough to make you forget who keeps you safe?"

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "This isn’t about safety, is it?" you challenged. "You’re jealous."

Phainon chuckled, though there was no real amusement in it. "Jealous?" He repeated the word as if testing its weight on his tongue. Then, he leaned in. "If that’s what you want to call it."

"You belong to me," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "So don't mention his name with that mouth of yours again."

This is going out of hand, and you must do something. A way to return to your own world, to get away from him.

You weren’t sure what you had done wrong. You've been trying to find your way back home so you messed with the system's rules, leading to whatever is happening in front of your very eyes.

Sitting before you was a system menu—one that shouldn’t have existed. It flickered, its edges distorted, as if the game itself was resisting your interference. Your heart pounded as you scrolled through the options, desperately searching for a way to force the game to release you.

Your fingers hovered over the last remaining command:

[Modify Event Flags]

A risk. A mistake. But you took it anyway.

A sharp chime rang in your ears, the screen flashing as the world around you trembled. The coding beneath your feet warped like rippling water, a sickening pull dragging you downward as the game executed whatever change you had triggered. Your breath hitched. This wasn’t what you intended. You had tried to bypass Phainon’s control, to force an event where he would let you go.

Instead, the world went dark.

When you woke, your surroundings were unrecognizable.

Gold and ivory silk draped over every surface, the warm glow of lanterns casting soft shadows along the grand walls. Ornate decorations stretched from the ceiling to the floor, the unmistakable scent of fresh roses filling the air. You blinked, your pulse quickening as you sat up, your fingers brushing against the embroidered fabric of an unfamiliar garment.

No. No, this wasn’t right.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

That voice.

You turned to see him.

Phainon stood at the edge of the room, adorned in a ceremonial ensemble far more elaborate than his usual attire. Silver-white hair, blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A slow smile curled his lips as he stepped closer, his presence consuming the space between you.

“What… is this?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Phainon tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face. “You should already know, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who triggered the event.”

“The event?”

His expression softened, but there was something in his gaze—something terrifyingly certain. He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Our wedding.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs as his words settled into your mind. “That’s not possible—I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” he murmured, voice impossibly gentle. “The game has already set everything in motion.”

You scrambled out of bed, feet hitting the cold marble floor as you backed away from him. “No, I refuse this. There has to be a way to undo it.”

Phainon’s smile didn’t waver. “There isn’t.”

The weight of his words crashed over you like a tidal wave. The game had overwritten its own path. It had forced you into this event—one where every outcome led to you standing at an altar beside him.

His hand found your wrist before you could run.

“You’ve fought me at every turn,” he mused “And yet, here we are. Together. Just as fate—just as the game itself—has decided.”

You struggled against his grip, but it was firm, unyielding. “This isn’t fate. This is manipulation.”

Phainon chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Then tell me… do you really think you have a choice?”

The doors behind him creaked open, revealing an expanse of guests waiting beyond them—characters you had met, NPCs whose scripts had adapted to fit this sudden turn of events. They were all here for one reason.

For your wedding.

Your breath came fast and shallow as you looked back at him. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

His grip on you tightened just slightly. “No, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you waste such a perfect opportunity. We're finally able to be together forever.”

You knew then—you were trapped. The game had sealed your fate. You only hoped to get away from him with an error, an event, anything. The system gave you this. You had your choice, but this event involved Phainon, how tragic. And Phainon… Phainon had never looked more satisfied. If it's something he can manipulate, surely he won't let you have your way.

“Now,” he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Shall we begin?”

[traveler-at-heart]

The Doctor's In - Part 4

Summary: Wanda and R have their first date ;)

Wanda: Sorry I missed you before you left for work. Wanna come over for dinner with us?

Y/N: Would love to :)

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who just got dumped” Darcy says as you smile at your phone.

“Who got what?”

“Carol and Maria…”

“No one dump me, there was no relationship to end” you say, locking your phone. You have noticed that Carol has been avoiding you, which is pretty idiotic, considering a lot of the trauma cases that come your way are ortho related.

That would also explain why Kamala rambled so much every time you requested a consult, so you made a note to speak to Carol about it.

“So…” Darcy ponders, and you wish she’d just drop it. She snaps her fingers. “The hot mom!”

“Her name is Wanda, and we are just talking” you refuse to look at her, knowing she can smell the bullshit from miles away.

“Something tells me talking wasn’t the only thing you did with your mouths” she insists, pulling on your sleeve.

“Fine! We kissed and it was awesome! Happy, you little pestering gnome?”

“Yes, lesbian whore. Congrats on securing a ticket to MILF paradise”

“Fuck you”

“Doctor Y/L/N” Kamala enters the room as you give Darcy the middle finger. “I can come back! Sorry!”

“Look what you’ve done” you mumble as Darcy cackles. The joy doesn’t last long, as you steal her chips. She’s too distracted making fun of you to notice.

“Hey, not fair”

You close the door and go after the resident.

“Hey, Kamala”

“Oh, hi. Doctor Danvers asked me to show you some X-Rays”

“Tell Doctor Danvers to show me herself. Or better yet, I will go directly to her. Where can I find her, Doctor Kahn?”

“Uh… I…”

“Never mind, I’ll ask Maria” you turn to leave  and Kamala screeches in horror.

“OR 2. She’s in OR 2. Please don’t do it, my Baba will never forgive me if I get kicked out of the program” the young doctor clings to your arm.

“Kamala. Get it together. It’s gonna be fine. If Carol gets mad, you can be in my service for a week” you promise and she barely stops hyperventilating.

By the time you reach the OR, Carol is done with her surgery. She stops in her tracks when your eyes meet.

“Doctor Danvers, a word?” you ask, trying to sound professional.

“Of course” she nods. Leading you to an empty scrub room, Carol opens the door for you, fidgeting. “What’s up?”

“Stop making everything so awkward. I’m not mad at you. Kamala is about to have a stress induced stroke from all the consults you send her to avoid me”

“You’re really not mad?” Carol says.

“No! I never expected anything else from you. We didn’t talk about it but I always knew what your true feelings were”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be, honestly. Just, stop acting like you left me at the altar or some weird shit. We’re colleagues and friends”

“That makes me happy. I didn’t want to stop talking to you” she relaxes. “Though I have to be honest, I told Maria what happened between us”

“Is she mad?”

“Only a bit and just to me. I’ll manage to turn it around” the blonde smiles, a dreamy look on her eyes.

“If it helps, tell her I have a date on Thursday” you say, leaving the room, Carol right behind you.

“Oh, let me guess. The hot mom?” she jokes.

“Her name is Wanda!” you repeat.

“Well, let me know how the date goes?” Carol pats your shoulder, and you nod.

“Will do. Now page your resident and tell her we’re all set before she gets admitted to the Psych ward”

—

The footsteps approaching on the other side make your heart jump. You wonder if the flowers are too much, but when Wanda sees them, her face lights up and you know it was the right thing to do.

“Come on in” Wanda says, taking the flowers and then standing on her toes to kiss your cheek. “The boys are in the living room”

“Want some help with the food?”

“No, I’m almost done. It will be more helpful if you entertain the twins for a little” she says, pulling the flowers close to her chest.

“Alright, then” you’re about to kiss her when the boys walk in. They’re so excited to see you that they don’t notice how close you are to their mother.

“Y/N” Billy says, running towards you.

“Hey, kiddos” you pick them up, carrying them over your shoulder and they giggle. “Come on, there’s a new game I wanna show you”

You take your time to set everything up, explaining a bit about the game. They giggle as Crash jumps and turns in the sand of the first level, and you finish it all, including the tricky jump at the end.

“Who wants to go next?”

“Me” Tommy says, sitting next to you. They are both focused on the game, so you take advantage of the distraction to go see Wanda.

Sliding into the kitchen, you grab her by the waist.

“You scared me” she laughs, allowing you to press against her back, kissing her temple. “What’s going on?”

“I have approximately fifty seconds before they ask for my help so I’m making sure they count” you turn her around and lean forward, capturing her lips and sighing against her mouth. “You look very pretty”

“Thank you”

“You smell really nice” you add, kissing her again, making Wanda laugh. “And I really, really, like kissing you”

Wanda smiles at that, her hand caressing your cheek.

“Y/N!” the boys chant in unison.

“Like clockwork” you mutter, kissing Wanda’s forehead as you go back to the living room.

You spend a few more minutes playing with the kids, until Wanda calls everyone for dinner.

“How’s the arm, kiddo?” you say, sitting next to Billy with Tommy and Wanda in front of you. As you take a bite of the chicken, you notice a funny flavor. “Is this brocc…”

Wanda widens her eyes and kicks you under the table.

“Ouch”

“You ok?” Tommy asks, none the wiser.

“Yeah, I just bit my tongue” you lie, Wanda taking a sip of her water to hide her laugh.

“Kids, eat” she encourages them, and you get the hint. The flavor of the broccoli is hidden with the cheese, so you smile and continue to eat, enjoying every single bite.

“I’m on cleaning duty” you say as soon as everyone finishes, taking the dishes and cleaning the table.

Billy and Tommy run to the living room to continue playing, and as you get ready to wash the dishes, Wanda leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“It’s nice to have you here”

“You have an odd way of showing it, Miss Maximoff” you joke, leaning against her touch.

“In my defense, it’s the only way to get them to eat their greens” she jokes and you lean forward, your lips inches away from hers. In that precise moment, the boys call for her.

“Behave” she warns the children, pulling away to see what the fuss is about.

“Have you thought about boarding schools?” you joke and she pinches your side. “Ah, kidding! I would miss them too much”

You load the dishwasher, clean the pots and put the rest of the food on some containers. By the time you’re done, the kids are getting ready to go to bed.

“Can you come over again tomorrow?”

“If your mom wants me to, sure. I can bring the food this time so she takes a break from cooking” you offer, smiling at Wanda.

“We’ll see about that, Y/N works hard enough as it is. Say goodbye to her, boys”

Tommy and Billy wave at you, already dragging their feet. You stay on the living room, and a few minutes later Wanda comes down.

“Hi” she plops down next to you and you smile.

“All good?”

“A bit tired, that’s all. Just ignore me, you’re the one that works all those crazy hours”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m used to it by now” you shrug your shoulders.

“Would you like some wine?”

“Sure, I don’t have work tomorrow”

“How come?” Wanda asks when she returns, handing you a glass of red wine and sitting closer to you on the couch.

“Well, I have a really hot date coming up and I need to plan every detail”

“She sounds like a lucky girl” Wanda blushes, biting her lip.

“Oh, I’m the lucky one” you say, placing both of your glasses on the coffee table. “She’s smart, funny, has legs for days, cooks amazing food…”

“Stop” she laughs, and you shake your head no. Wanda is still laughing when you connect your lips with hers, a sigh leaving her mouth when you lift her and place her on your lap, her legs straddling you.

“Is this ok?”

“Yeah” she nods, leaning her forehead against yours. “More than ok. As a matter of fact, I remember reading that kissing is good for your health”

“It’s so good” you say, your lips traveling to her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck. “I’d say do it as often as possible”

“Doctor’s orders?” Wanda jokes, her voice faltering as you come back to her mouth, your tongue swiping across her bottom lip.

“Doctor’s orders”

—

The plan is coming along. You have the tickets for the exhibit and the next thing on the list should be the dinner reservation. Your pager beeps the minute you call the restaurant. 

911.

“Shit” 

You sprint to the car, knowing no one would call you outside of work if it wasn’t serious. 

“What’s wrong?” you walk to the ER, looking around.

“What on Earth is this?” Tony Stark, neurosurgeon and professional asshole gets in your face the minute you get there.

“I don’t know, I’ve been off work since yesterday, Stark” you take the chart, reading all the information until you get to the signature. The writing got progressively worse, until it was just senseless lines.

“This person was clearly having a stroke, and the staff didn’t notice. I have to scrub in and see if I can save his life”

“And you’re wasting time arguing with me” you roll your eyes, pushing the chart to his chest and walking to the OR.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To scrub in. If you want to blame me, that’s fine. I’m staying by this patient’s side until he pulls through”

“If he pulls through” Stark says angrily and you ignore him. 

Before scrubbing in, you check your phone.

Wanda: Is everything ok? I saw you leaving in a hurry. 

“By all means, take your time” Stark says, glaring as he walks by you.

You spend the entire surgery in his OR, standing still and doing everything he asks. He’s a rude, pretentious cunt, but if anyone can work a miracle, it’s him, so you suck it up and take every snide comment with a blank stare.

After hours working, Tony sighs, nodding at his work. 

“Close him, Parker,” he asks his resident. You stand watching the young man’s work, until the surgeon asks you to come with him.

“I’m sorry” he blurts out the minute you step out. “This wasn’t your patient, nor your responsibility. And I made it seem like it was”

“It’s still not right. If I had been here, I would have noticed”

“I know. Your work is impeccable” he acknowledges and you nod. Even if he’s an ass, this is the hospital his father built, and he’s a genius with years ahead of you in experience.

“Will he be alright?”

“There’s a good chance he’ll pull through. Let’s be cautiously optimistic. I’ll let Parker explain everything to the family. Sorry for interrupting your days off”

“Not a problem” 

“It’s the first time you’ve taken PTO in 3 years. Fury’s gonna have my head for making you come” Tony says, laughing.

The patient is moved to the ICU, but you’re still not comfortable leaving, so you go back to the on-call room, sitting in a bed to gather your thoughts. Yelling in the hallway makes you stand up, watching as Parker tries to speak to a man and his wife. 

“You discharged him, said he was fine” the man yells, pointing at Peter’s face. 

“Sir, I can assure you, we’re doing our best to make sure your son…”

“We wanna see him now” the man takes Peter by his coat, almost lifting him off the ground. The young man stutters, not knowing how to deescalate the situation.

“Hey, that’s enough” you step in, not realizing the man is about to throw a punch until you make him drop Peter, his elbow connecting with your cheek.

“Crap, Doctor Y/L/N, are you ok?” Peter says, rushing to your side.

“Yeah, fine”

Fucking fantastic. 

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to wait in the foyer, or I’ll call security” Carol steps in, glaring at the man. She waits until he’s gone, muttering an apology your way. “You ok?”

“Mhm, great”

“I thought you had a few days off”

“Yeah, me too”

“Come on, let’s have a look at that punch” Carol says, dragging you to one of the exam rooms. You sigh, trying to keep your eye closed. “No stitches needed”

“Great” you mumble, pulling out your phone. There’s like five messages from Wanda but before you can answer, she calls you.

“Hey”

“Hey, are you ok? You had me worried”

“Yeah, there was a thing at the hospital and I… ouch! Carol, a little warning?” you hiss as the blonde pours some disinfectant on the bruised skin.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were busy” Wanda says, her demeanor changing. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone”

“Wait, Wanda!” you say but it’s too late, the call cut off. “God, could this day get any worse? I have to go”

“Want me to drive you there?” Carol says with a smile and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah. That will make Wanda so happy”

“Whipped” Carol jokes and you try to glare, but it hurts your eye.

Wanda barely put the kids to bed, when she hears a knock on the door. She’s prepared to give you an attitude but then sees your swollen cheek.

“Oh, my God, what happened to you, are you ok?” the brunette says, immediately forgetting she’s mad at you.

“It’s a long story. But that doesn’t matter. Listen, I know how it seems, I tell you I’m busy and when you call me I’m with Carol”

“I know you work together. It’s fine” Wanda lies.

“No, it’s not, come on”

“Ok, just come in and explain everything while I get you some ice, ok?”

“Thanks” you mutter, sitting at the kitchen counter. You fidget with your hands, not looking up until Wanda comes closer, her eyes soft as she moves the hair out of your face.

“Cold” she warns, placing a compress against your skin. You sigh with relief, holding her hand close.

“I’m sorry. I was called in to fix something I didn’t break”

“Don’t apologize for doing your job, Y/N” she says in a soft voice. “Is everyone ok? Is that how you got hurt?”

“Everyone’s ok. The parents were just pissed and I tried to break the fight”

“Does it hurt?” Wanda pulls the compress and examines the skin. It’s a little bruised, but not too swollen.

“It will later” you sigh.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You can kiss it better”

“Is that what Carol was doing earlier?” Wanda tilts her head, a dangerous look in her eyes that sends shivers down your spine.

“Oh, come on! Not fair!”

“I’m kidding” she says, finally kissing you softly. You close your eyes, relaxing for the first time in 12 hours. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, you were saving lives”

“What you feel is valid. Don’t apologize for it, ok? I’ll always listen to you, I promise” you kiss her hand, smiling when she blushes. “We’re still up for our date, right?”

“We can reschedule, you must be exhausted”

“Not a chance” you say, pulling her closer again. “I’ve been waiting too long for this”

“Well, alright. If you insist” she pecks your lips and you nod.

“I do”

“I have an… odd request” she says, avoiding your eyes.

“I won’t kink shame you, I promise”

“Can you be serious for just a second?” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. You make a motion to keep quiet, and let her speak. “Can you… pick me up around the block?”

“I can. But why am I doing it?”

“First of all, if the kids see you, they’ll want to tag along. And also… I’m not trying to be pessimistic here, I just want to protect them. It’s been the three of us since they were born and I’ve never even dated anyone, let alone someone they know” she takes a deep breath, hoping you won’t get upset.

“Billy and Tommy come first, always” you nod. “I agree to the new rule, or I can wear glasses and a fake mustache”

“Nope” she shakes her head, covering your mouth with her hand.

“A bald cap then” you mumble against her palm.

She figures the only way to make it stop is by kissing you and she leans forward, her lips against yours. You smile dreamily as she pulls apart.

“Now. Would you like some dinner?” Wanda offers, and you almost drop to your knees.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect, Wanda Maximoff”

The way she blushes and giggles makes up for all the shitty things that happened in the past hours.

—

“There’s food and snacks, a list of phone numbers on the fridge in case of an emergency”

“Yes, Mrs. Maximoff,” Morgan says, following the woman around the house. It’s her first time babysitting the twins, but Wanda has known the girl since she started giving her private art lessons and trusts her.

“Boys, I’m leaving” Wanda calls, the kids standing up from the table to hug their mom goodbye. “Be good to Morgan, ok?”

“Where are you going?” Tommy asks.

“A work thing” she lies, feeling terrible about hiding the truth from the twins. But still, she knows it’s for the best to keep this private.

She waves goodbye one last time and walks past the house, noticing your car is no longer in the driveway. Her heart beats fast at the expectation of an evening together.

“Hey, gorgeous” you greet, leaning against the passenger door. “You look absolutely stunning”

You admire how amazing she looks in a pair of jeans, a white tee and a long sleeve sweater.

“So do you” she kisses you, smiling as you open the door to the car.

“Thanks, the purple eye gives my look a nice touch” you say as you begin the drive.

“Are you gonna tell me where we are going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough” you say, hoping she likes the surprise. “First stop” you announce, opening the car door for Wanda and looking at the building in front of you. 

“Artechouse. Oh, I’ve heard about this” Wanda nods, intrigued.

“I did too, but never made the time to go. Come on” you lead her to the entrance, showing your tickets. “There’s a small bar if you wanna have a drink before we go in” 

“Let’s go in now” she says, looking everywhere. 

You think it’s a good sign that she’s so interested in the exhibit, so you lead her to the start, both of you gasping as you enter a room that is projecting videos of flowers from floor to ceiling. Wanda’s hand searches yours in the dark, and you smile shyly as she holds it, walking around the room.

The intimacy of the place allows you to come closer, sharing everything you see in a low voice and enjoying the show. 

“Check this out” you say, lifting your arm, the animation following your movements. Wanda lets out a laugh, doing the same.

Each room enchants Wanda even more, the next installation featuring plants that react to the touch with light and sound. Your favorite by far is the tree that reacts differently if you’re holding hands or hugging. As you walk up to it, Wanda is still holding your hand and you both look at the screen. Well, she’s looking at the projection and you’re looking at her, thinking how beautiful she is. 

Taking a step forward, your arms go around her waist and you smile, admiring how the images change.

“It’s beautiful” Wanda whispers, turning to you. “You’re not looking” 

“I have the best view right in front of me” you smile, happy when she kisses you softly.

Wanda takes her time examining everything and once she’s done, you walk to the exit. 

“That was amazing. I forgot how much I enjoy these things. Thank you, Y/N”

“Glad you liked it” 

“Best first date I’ve had,” she smiles.

“Oh, this is only the first part. You don’t really think I’d forget about the food, right?” 

“Where are we going?”

“Well, there’s a very fancy option but I don’t feel like going with this thing on my face” you point at the bruise, annoyed. “If you’re feeling adventurous we could try something different?” 

“You look perfectly fine, darling” she kisses your cheek. “But I’m up for an adventure, so lead the way” 

“Awesome” you hold her hand, walking down the street and away from the museum. This is your favorite part of town, close to the pier and the little shops that are open until late. 

You walk down the promenade, showing Wanda some of the places you love. There’s a small gallery, a cafe, and other shops. 

“We’re here” you announce, pointing excitedly at the kebab shop. “This is fine, right? We can still go to the fancy place if you like”

“Sorry this place isn’t fancy enough for you, Majesty” the owner pops out of nowhere, scaring you.

“Samir! That’s not what I meant. You know I love your food”

“Mhm” he glares, but then smiles at Wanda. “What can I get for you, angel?”

“Well, what’s good here?” Wanda wonders, not as familiar with the dishes. “Maybe a shawarma” 

“How about a kebab box, fries to share and a doner” you suggest, “And her shawarma, of course” 

“That’s a lot of food” she protests and you shrug your shoulders.

“I’m always eating leftovers before I leave for work so it’s fine, babe” 

“Oh, well” she wants to scold you about your eating habits, but the pet name makes her dizzy. 

You pay and lead them to a small table outside, unaware of Wanda’s flustered state. You hand over a soda and open your can, taking a sip.

“We can go to other art shows whenever you want, you know? Even if I don’t understand anything, I do enjoy watching you” you smile, laughing as Wanda’s cheeks go red at the comment.

“I did enjoy it, thank you. You come here often?”

“I do, I love the food here. Samir noticed I came late because of my shifts and he always saved me some food. Nice fella” you turn to make sure he’s not listening. “But I promise I’ll take you to dinner to that other place when I don’t look like a raccoon”

“You don’t have to” 

“I kinda want to see you in a dress, all fancy like that time you left for another date” you smile at the memory of how beautiful she looked.

Wanda’s heart bursts with the way you look at her, complete adoration in your eyes. She’s almost left speechless, but her phone saves her. 

“It’s my brother” she apologizes, taking the call. “Hi, Pietro. No, I’m not with them. Because, I’m out. Of course with a babysitter, stupid” she rolls her eyes, and then switches to a language that you don’t understand, but sounds like Russian. You look at her in awe, until Samir calls for you to get the food. By the time you’re back at the table, Wanda already hung up.

“Sorry about that” 

“No, don’t worry. I guess I never asked, but are you Russian?”

“Sokovian” she corrects. “We moved to the States when Pietro and I were ten” 

“Wow. I never… you don’t even have an accent” 

“It slips up from time to time, especially if I’m angry or… flustered” Wanda says, and you almost choke on the food, thinking of all the ways you could make it come out. 

“Oh, well” you clear your throat. “Is your brother ok?”

“Yeah, he wanted to ask the boys something about video games that I don’t understand. I’m sure you would” 

“I don’t know, my knowledge is limited to things that existed when I was a kid. How’s the food?”

“Amazing. Wow” Wanda says, pleased with the flavor of the meat and how it compliments the rice and dips.

“See? We’re good enough for a first date” Samir shouts from the kitchen.

“Stop listening to our conversation” you shout back and he grumbles. Wanda smiles, thinking of something she’s wanted to ask for a while now.

“Do you ever visit your family?” 

“No, not really” you shake your head. “I pretty much left for college and never returned. Except this one Christmas, where I was feeling kind of lonely and tired. I just wanted to be home, but everything was so different, my half siblings were just too much to handle for anyone… and I didn’t even know what to do, no one bought me a present because I was never around and they just thought I’d be gone like last year”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked…”

“It’s fine” you shrug your shoulders. “I know it’s weird, but I like my life, you know? My colleagues are great, I’m doing what I love… and if I hadn’t moved here, I wouldn’t have met you”

“Yeah, that’s true. It’s their loss” Wanda smiles, kissing you. You smile against her lips. “You can always spend the holidays with us, you know? I mean, it’s too soon to talk about it, I’m just saying”

“That would be nice” you interrupt her rambling. “Now, I have something very important to ask. Out of all the neighbors, which one is the most annoying and why?”

“Well, I’d say it’s… Agatha”

“Harkness! Yes! I knew you disliked her too” 

Wanda laughs and you keep the conversation going. By the time you’re done, you pay and leave a big tip for Samir, who gives you a hug as you leave the store.

“I’m so full” Wanda says, patting her stomach. 

“I know. Oh, you want ice cream?” you say, remembering the gelato store that is a few shops ahead. 

“You just said you were full!”

“It’s ice cream, come on” you take her hand, and pay for two cones. Wanda orders strawberry while you opt for chocolate.

“How is it?” you ask as you walk down the pier, enjoying the view. 

“Amazing, have some” she offers the cone, but you kiss her instead. “That’s not what I meant” Wanda laughs against your lips.

“Well, it tastes amazing to me” you say, leaning forward and chasing after her soft lips, the flavor lingering as you deepen the kiss. Wanda sighs against your mouth, pulling you closer until your hand goes down her waist. “Best ice cream I’ve ever had” 

“Yeah” Wanda nods, her eyes closed. You peck her lips one last time, and continue your walk, still talking about everything you can think of, enjoying each other’s company.

When she checks the time more than once you get the hint, ready to go home.

“I’m sorry, I’m just being annoying, we can stay longer” 

“It’s ok, I know you like to be home early. Come on, we can drink wine or I’ll let you go to bed”

You rest your hand on Wanda’s leg for the entire ride home, unaware that your touch is making the woman restless. When you’re close to your house, you stop exactly where you picked Wanda up.

“I can just park at home, right? The boys are probably asleep”

“Yeah” Wanda nods, flustered. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when she moves forward, pulling you down for a rough kiss that takes your breath away. It’s a bit messy and desperate, and you ignore the strain of your seatbelt as Wanda pulls you closer to her, sighing against your mouth.

“You can’t park here!” an annoying person knocks on your window and you both break apart. “Oh, my! Wanda? Doctor Y/L/N?”

Damn it, it’s Agatha Harkness. Your nosy, annoying neighbor. Rolling down the window and smoothing your clothes, you smile at her.

“Hey, Miss Harkness. Sorry, I’ll move right now” 

“No, don’t worry” she gives you a sly smile. “Have a good night, you two love birds”

“Night, Agatha” Wanda says and you turn on the car, finally parking in your driveway.

“That was fun” you comment, opening the door for Wanda and crossing the street to walk her home.

“Yeah, just our luck” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. “Wanna come in? Or do you have to work tomorrow?”

“Not until Saturday. Come on” you let her lead you to her house, opening the door as quietly as possible. Wanda sees Morgan at the kitchen table, doing her homework.

“How did everything go?”

“Great, they went to sleep an hour ago” 

“Morgan Stark?” you greet, closing the door behind you. 

“You two know each other?” Wanda says.

“Yeah, my parents work at the hospital with Doctor Y/L/N” Morgan says, waving at you. “Nice to see you” 

“Did you drive here? Or want me to take you home?” 

“It’s fine, I drove here” she says, and you hand over some money before Wanda can pay her. 

“Drive safely, ok? Don’t want your dad giving me crap on the next meeting”

“Will do. Good night, Miss Maximoff”

“Night, Morgan”

“You didn’t have to pay for that too” Wanda says, kissing you. “But thank you” 

“Anytime. How do you know Morgan?” you nod when she offers you a glass of wine and you walk to the living room with her.

“I’m giving her private art lessons. She’s really good. Had no idea her parents were doctors”

“Not just any doctors, baby” you say, taking a sip. “Tony’s father built the hospital we work in. And he’s done some amazing research in neurosurgery. Pepper is also one of the best plastic surgeons in the world” 

“Wow, Morgan is so sweet and down to Earth”

“She gets that from her mom, Tony can be an ass” you mutter and Wanda laughs. “So, did I secure a second date?”

“A third one as well. But only if I can pay for the next one”

“Nu-uh. I’m spoiling you, baby” you say, your hand going to her leg. You notice how Wanda’s cheeks turn red, and you’re not sure if it’s the nickname or the contact. “Come here”

You take her glass of wine, approaching her slowly and kissing her. It’s tender at first, but then your hands travel to her lower back, and Wanda moans against your mouth. You deepen the kiss, sighing when she pushes you on your back, climbing on top of you.

Wanda kisses down your neck, biting slightly. The sudden nip makes your hips jolt forward, and she has to hold back another moan.

“I don’t know how you do it” she says, shivering when your hands travel down and cup her ass through her jeans.

“Do what, baby?”

“Drive me crazy with just one touch”

“Let me take care of you” you ask, kissing her, your hands going all the way to the front of her pants.

“Mom?”

“Shit” she mutters, both of her hands covering your mouth. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m thirsty,” Tommy says.

“Alright, don’t come down, I’ll be right there, ok?” she says, hoping the boy hasn’t noticed anything strange. But he’s too sleepy so he just agrees and returns to his room. “I’m sorry”

She removes her hands from your mouth, helping you up.

“It’s fine, I enjoy the choking but just give me a heads up”

“Stop” she says, blushing. “I’ll be right back. Unless, you want to go? I’m sorry”

“I can stay” you nod, smiling at her disheveled state.

“Alright, I’ll be back” Wanda promises, pecking your lips.

You sit up, fixing your hair and taking a sip of the wine to calm down.

“Everything ok?” you say as Wanda comes down. She nods, smiling and sitting next to you.

“Yeah, I just didn’t think they’d be up. Maybe… we could wait a bit? When I’m not worried about the boys walking in on anything”

“Of course. Come here” you open your arms, and she settles, leaning her head against your shoulder. You kiss her temple. “Wanna watch some tv?”

“What about a sitcom? I love watching those”

“Like Friends?”

“Like Bewitched or… The Dick Van Dyke show” she says and you laugh, completely caught off guard by the suggestion.

“You’re fascinating, Wanda Maximoff” you say, handing over the remote, ready to watch whatever she wants.

[ghostykapi]

three against me (the trio's love)

misamo & fem!reader // college au

thank you for @cry4mina for the misamo pictures and for being delulu with me about misamo <3 MISAMOOO

when you said you wanted your college life to be eventful

you didn't expect the universe throwing you three girlfriends, each with their own side of how they got you locked with them

it starts during the first semester of your 3rd year, when you were in a small cafe, getting to a headstart in your pile of homework

it's perfect, a iced coffee by your side, three readings beside you, your laptop on the coffee table in front of you and phone silenced, muting whatever the onslaught of messages nayeon is sending that you can't even be bothered to check

you needed this, you couldn't handled anymore 'dubchaeng babysitting!' when the duo would just make your head hurt with the amount of crazy ideas they had. the change of pace for the day is much welcome, especially knowing that jeongyeon took over with the lure of seeing a band a cafe next university over

it's nice, you can feel like you are in control for even just for a bit

then the cafe's noise dies down when the door chimes

it's too silent

fuck.

you brace yourself at the trio, who’s presence can make the entire student populous go on their knees. the mere whisper of their little group brings the entire college either trembling

misamo.

you can feel her gaze land on you, despite the only indication that it is one of them without looking is the whispers within the cafe. even the baristas know them

hirai momo. softball player, the star athlete that brings medals and more recognition to your university. average grades, stellar performance when she steps on the field and can land a nasty punch

with each step you hear her take, the more you have to remind yourself not to look. you can hear her giggles and the way your heartbeat is now in your ears

minatozaki sana. influencer and model, the unspoken leader of their group. through her bubbly and charming personality, she uses her wit to become the face of the university. part of the top 10% of the whole university, the inspiration to study hard and diligently

you feel a hand on your shoulder, the firm grasp rendering you unable to move, yet it's how you know who it is. she hums in delight at your sharp intake of breath, knowing that you don't need anything else to tell her apart

myoui mina. rising entrepreneur of 3 different business ventures, the deadliest one from the trio. always calculating, always 10 steps ahead of her peers and competitors. sweet, kind, and demur, she brings class to whatever she does

that includes sitting beside you, her bag gently landing on the table, your proximity leaves the others questioning your relationship, but all you know is that you must have done something at your shared class with her yesterday for her too approach you

"i hope you don't mind" she starts, eyes confident and you want to scream and cry because she's wearing a suit. typically worn when she's fresh from visiting one of her businesses. "i heard you were well versed in code"

"programming is my major yes" you keep your voice leveled, after all, being a woman in such a male dominated course has made you what your flock of admirers say, freezingly cold.

"i have a proposition for you" mina starts, keeping a dangerous game of who can keep the eye contact going "you help me with homeworks and projects while i give you money per assessment made"

while mina has a fair share of students that matched her energy, something in your gaze makes her crack a bit

"what makes you think i'll say yes?"

"you can't say no to me"

"yes i can. here watch i'll say it"

and mina can't deny it when she feels her heart start to race when you get closer to her. faces barely a few inches apart

"i don't do things for money. so no"

and you pull back, ready to put back to attention to your homework when mina speaks up

"every time you have to help me i'll pay you in food"

oh goodness free food

"ok i'm in" you hum, hands typing away on your laptop "we start in two days, send me an address and i'll met you there myoui. now shoo, i have to catch up to my work"

she stares at you with a blank gaze, but inside she's dumbfounded at your boldness

nevertheless, she stands up to leave you be, but before she's out of earshot, she says something you don't quite catch

"what?" you ask

"you should call me mina. myoui is too professional even for my taste dear"

three days later, it's momo who bugs you after your morning class

she slips up right beside you, the lack of dress code in the university gives momo a chance to wear a body hugging pink dress, something that makes everyone go crazy. what you don't like is how every guy is looking at her in ways you want to pluck their eyes out

filthy bastards don't deserve to gaze at her at all

"momo" your ears are red because everyone can clearly see you both in the halls, her arm around your waist as you slowly walk to the next building for your next class "what are you doing?"

"accompanying you to class" momo won't admit it, but ever since mina said you were, in her words, 'pretty and sufficient', she had to see you

"why?" you ask, glaring at every man who's looking at her too creepily, making them scurry away

"just because, plus our classrooms are right beside each other" she relaxes more with each less man in the hall, you notice it

"fine" you huff, and before she can even say anything else, you remove your jacket, giving it to her "wear this for today, i don't want any man to look at you. you're too gorgeous for them"

the rest of the walk is silent on the way to both of your classrooms. only thing you can hear is the squeak of every sneaker from each man running way and the whispers in between students

it's the most peaceful walk momo has had since becoming star athlete

so when you wave at her from the door before disappearing to go to the classroom beside her's, she feels like she can breath without panicking

she hates taking anything math related, but she might bare it more when she knows your beside her classroom

she's hooked

later that afternoon, while you lounge around the student council office sipping a red bull, someone barges in, scaring your team who's having a heated debate on who should the rest of the papers

"fucking jesus who the fuck-" ryujin is silenced from who she sees at the door

minatozaki sana, the ever persistent and one of the most notable member under the team of the president.

"someone sent you flowers?"

not a question you were expecting, even your team is gawking at her

dressed to perfection, you can't catch her in a regular outfit at any point, which is kind of ridiculous. sana doesn't care, always styled like she's going to a fashion week in europe. today she's wearing that white dress that she just wore in her feature in some magazine

what is it with the trio and wearing designer clothing every time they are at university grounds? specifically when they are within your eyesight

"pardon?" you know the amount of admires that still try despite cold rejection, even hailing from different courses. hell you think someone from the university over sent you chocolates once, you gave it to your team though

"did you accept some stupid boy's flowers?" sana repeats, anger in her eyes, an emotion she barely shows, and possessiveness in her body language, something you see glimpses of when someone gets close to mina and momo that she doesn't approve of

"minatozaki you know i don't do that" you say calmly, your team in awe at how you keep a calm attitude "if the suitor doesn't have the guts to face me, then they do not deserve my limited time"

"then you'll entertain if i do right?"

you can hear felix and lily choke over their pizza behind you

"you are not serious" you look at her like she's crazy (she loves being called that, you learn from mina later on)

she gets closer to you, faces barely an inch apart, any slip up from her leaning way to closer over your table and she can just kiss you

"try me, i'll see you at tomorrow's meeting miss vice-president"

when she leaves the office, it takes you and your team a total of 5 minutes to recover

"jesus what the fuck was that"

"ryujin shut up, go back to bickering with lia"

no one has ever said no to the trio

maybe a few people had

they're just not as pretty, charming and confident as you

maybe that's why mina keeps sitting beside you during your shared programming class even oustide 'tutor' hours, why momo's insistent at being beside you in between periods to carry your items on days your classes line up, and why sana shows up in every weekly meeting with an expensive gift or a trinket, challenging each suitor head on.

women like them are gonna be the death of you

"you have some crazy women that like you" jihyo jests beside you, giggling at how sana is glaring daggers at how close you both are. you both are now taking a break along with the rest of the internal team to finalize some papers

"yeah well" you don't like to admit it, but ever since their persistence to always either be near you, you have been starting to crack bit by bit "can't really escape them y'know"

"i think you would look cute with them" jihyo hums, swinging her pen between her fingers, making someone across the table keep her stare at the president "misamo and their girlfriend who sucks ass at karaoke"

"ok that was one time" you huff, jihyo's snickering makes sana look up from her phone, jaw tensing up at how close jihyo is "clearly i let you win because you liked it when tzuyu said she's treat you out if you win right?"

that shuts her up. the said tall woman is at the other side of the room, watching the president's face get red, wondering what you just said to make her like this

"get back to work" jihyo then shoos you away, your laughter making jihyo flip you off before returning to work for herself

before you cam even return to work, your eyes meet sana's, her expression unreadable. you wonder what she's thinking of

you look away, a light blush on your cheeks from her intense stare, busying yourself once more with the papers

to sana, witnessing your smile and laughter rewires her brain, heart pleading with her to speed up whatever this stage the three of them are in. each day that passes drives the three of them crazy

mina is messing up in her calculations, momo is missing her shots and sana is losing her composure on the daily

she needs you. they need you.

when sana heads home that night she keeps thinking about you. even when she lets her girlfriends debate what their late night dinner should be (mina wants tacos, momo is craving for some pasta). she blurts out in the middle of it

"do you think y/n would say yes if we offered her sushi as a late night dinner?"

the two stop at their bickering to look at sana, who's eyes are begging for the next move. she's getting itchy and desperate to make it

"satang" mina reaches out to her, letting sana wrap her arms around her waist as momo hugs them both "did something happen?"

"it's just" sana doesn't even try to hide it at this point, knowing that the three of them are nearing their breaking point "i saw her laugh today and it really made me think that 'i want to make her laugh with us' and i-i don't know but it has been driving me mad"

mina hums in understanding and momo speaks up, ready to take that push

"then let's go"

staying late even after meetings is normal for you to catch up with the papers, but for the past few days, you have been staying late in the office to busy your thoughts

mina hasn't been looking at you in the eye or been acknowledging you

momo hasn't been accompanying you to class

sana hasn't shown up to a single meeting this past two weeks

trying to silence your head, you decided to throw yourself into your extra curriculars every night. this night, you are working alone, the only sounds that you can hear are your aggressive typing on your poor keyboard, the music coming from your small speaker and the voices in your head making your heart ache

and now a knock and the door swinging open

"if you have any concerns please drop them by our social media accounts, email, or even the drop box by the-"

you stop your next words when you look up

mina.

you want to curse at the woman, for deliberately avoiding you. it was worse with her, because at least with the two you didn't have the urge to scream because they simply did not show up.

momo.

even clad in that handsome suit, she's still wearing that jacket you handed over to her. devastatingly handsome and gorgeous, you wonder why did she have to leave you wondering in the noisy university halls

sana.

meetings are still the same, but jihyo keeps on asking why your eyes have been straying, always going back to the door. waiting for that laugh to annoy you, waiting for a snarky remark to any stupid men flirting with you, waiting for anything from her

you really want to throw a chair at them for just showing up now and pissing you off

you don't though, because you missed them

each in their own suit, each with their own gift, each one with a nervous smile that no one will ever see, each one wearing their hearts up their sleeves, and each with the same question you didn't know you wanted to hear until now

"we like you. would you like to go out with us? dinner tomorrow night, our treat"

you can't say no

"you guys are horrible at courting. pick me up at 7"

bonus:

in every first date you've been on, you never come over to your dates home. that changes and ends with them

"hirai" you're trying to keep your breath stable as her hands are playing your hair. eyes hazy, but clearly on you, her self control out the door, just like yours

"myoui" she's behind you, her hands on your waist, murmuring what she's been thinking about for the past days. it's all you, and it makes you melt

"minatozaki" you let her kiss you, silencing your worries and doubts, silencing anything that makes you question them. the heart finally getting what it wants

"you my love, deserve to be ours"

[asapeveryday]

The Last Time Pt1

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral sex

Summary: You rarely go out due to how hard your classes are, but a rare outing to a Halloween party draws you to a certain blonde’s attention.

Authors note: Not my first fic, but my first time writing for Paige, or writing anything on this app!!!im nervous asf but it’s okay 😇 pls point out any spelling mistakes pls I write these at like 2am.

Minors DNI beyond the cut!!

The house was one of the massive ones off campus, white picket fences and a big kitchen perfect for partygoers to escape the loud music. Fall had turned the hot, humid and vibrant summer nights into colder ones. Streets were littered with brown and orange leaves, and houses decorated with cobwebs and blow-up ghosts.

Your friends were used to going out for Halloween parties, but you never really bothered. Your classes just got harder by the year, so you always put off a long night out. To you it was worth it, because your grades were top 3 in your program.

“When was the last time you even got laid?” Your best friend asks you.

You shrug. “I dunno. July?”

“Whatever.” She sighs, realizing it wasn’t as bad as she thought. “Still, that’s like almost 3 months of no puss. Please just come to this party, it’ll be fun!” She whines.

“Isn’t it early for a Halloween party? It’s only the 20th. We still have a week. Plus, I don’t have a costume.” You say, hoping she’ll let you stay home.

“You don’t understand, this is massive. A Halloween-birthday-party is not one that you wanna miss” She beams at you. “And I have a basketball jersey you can wear for the night. Wear shorts with it, be sexy.”

“Shorts?? It’s October!” You groan.

Regardless, you found yourself inside of this house. Your friend wasn’t lying when she said this was a pretty big party, with all the people shoving up against you it was uncomfortable to be in in your sleeveless jersey and black shorts. The kitchen was slightly less rowdy so you started to search the fridge for some comfort in the form of food or alcohol before you heard a cough behind you.

“Yo.”

You turn only to find yourself having to look up at a much taller girl. Her blonde hair was long and down on her shoulders, except for the front pieces which were Dutch-braided closer to her head. She was wearing a really casual outfit, a matching Nike tracksuit. The only thing remotely Halloween-y thing on her was the pair of fake Angel wings on her back.

“Nice costume.” You almost scoff.

“You can’t be talkin. What are you, a fangirl?” She looks down at you. Her eyes are so blue you almost stumble backwards into to fridge.

“Fair.” You sheepishly smile at her. “It was really last minute, this isn’t even my jersey.”

“That’s cus it’s mine.” The mystery blonde laughs.

Immediately you look down at yourself, a white number 5 is sprawled against the navy fabric of the women’s basketball jersey you borrowed. You look up at the blonde again and your face drops.

“Oh shit! You’re-“

“Paige.” She finishes your sentence. “Not a basketball fan?”

“Not really.” You smile. You tell her your name and she repeats it back to you with a smirk that you feel straight in your gut. You’ve rarely seen Paige on campus, so having her right in front of you has helped you realize just how fine she really is.

“The jersey looks good on you.” Her eyes sweep throughout your body.

“You don’t come off as much of an Angel to me.” You raise your eyebrow at her, referring to her half-assed costume. You haven’t heard too many rumours about Paige Bueckers sex life, but you can just tell by her silent confidence, the way she stands and even just the way she looks at you that she gets around. Being a D1 athlete probably helps too.

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” She shrugs, maintaining eye contact with you.

“So Paige, is this your place or..”

“Nah. My friends threw this party as a surprise for me. Not even sure who’s crib this is but whatever.” She rubs the back of her neck. “You didn’t come with a gift, did you?” Paige asks.

“No, was I supposed to?”

“It’s my birthday ma, I think you owe me something.” She steps closer, looking at you through her long eyelashes.

You actually feel your heart drop to your ass at this point, and she can tell. Paige cocks her head to the staircase nearby and you almost run after her when she leads you upstairs.

You’re already making out by the time you crash into a bedroom, she slams the door shut and pushes you up against it. You almost faint when you feel her knee between your legs, applying pressure to your clit. She kisses you slowly, taking her time to memorize the feeling of her hands grazing your face, then trailing down your body and finding themselves inside the jersey. Her blonde hair tickles your neck as she starts to trail her kisses downwards.

Paige’s hands trail from your abdomen to your hips, roughly pulling your shorts down and kneeling to be face to face with your heat. You resist the urge to cover yourself from her, and can’t help but think about how awkward you must look from this angle, but she doesn’t seem to care. Gripping your thighs and looking up at you with her ice-blue eyes, she licks a slow stripe onto your already wet undies, chuckling when you shudder.

Pulling your underwear to the side with one hand, she slowly eases her finger inside of you and you throw your head back with a breathy moan that makes her smile. She sucks at your clit while adding another finger, then pumping into you almost on beat to the music blasting downstairs. Her tongue is insane to you, circling your clit so skillfully while curling her fingers inside of you, your knees almost buckle and your hands find her long hair, pushing her head. “Oh my god.” You breathe out. “I’m close.”

“Already?” Paige chuckles into you. When she removes her fingers and quickly replaces them with her mouth, lapping and licking inside of you you almost scream. The vibrations from her voice huffing around you are enough for you to feel that tight, building feeling in your stomach, and you cum right there and then.

She cleans whatever she can before pulling up your shorts for you and kissing you chastely, enough so you can taste yourself on her lips. When she pulls away you slump to the floor, legs twitching.

“Shit!” You embarrassedly mumble. Paige laughs and sits next to you. With both of your backs to the door you turn your head to meet her stare. “Happy birthday.” You laugh. She rubs her face, hiding her smile. “Pfft, thanks.”

“I thought I was supposed to gift you? You just gave me like, the best head I’ve had since I started college.”

“Seeing you fall to the ground at my head game is enough of a gift for me.” She shrugs, a smug look on her face. “Plus, there’s always next time if you wanna make it up to me.”

The two of you exchange numbers, the situation is so unreal to you that you’re convinced this is all some mistake.

“Did you even plan on hooking up with someone tonight?” You ask her suddenly, and she seems surprised at your honesty.

“Uhh…I’m not gonna lie, not really. This party was a surprise, remember?” She sighs. “I think seeing some cute girl in my jersey, totally oblivious, jus did something to me.”

You raise your eyebrow. “You didn’t even get to see what was under it.”

“Don’t tempt me, woman.” She laughs. “I’m exhausted, giving ankle-breaking head does that to you.”

“Shut up.” You say, shoving her lightly.

There’s a pause before you take a chance and say “There’s a good burger place nearby if you want to recharge a bit.”

The minute you say it you regret it. Paige Bueckers was in no hurry to get upstairs with you, there’s no way she’s gonna take you out for food too. Plus, since when did you go out with girls you met at parties?

She looks at you for a second, considering you. Finally she says “Fuck it, why not.”

Paige gets up and you follow after her lead. She laughs at the way you walk down the stairs and the two of you slip out of the house as sneakily as possible. Paige offers to drive you even though it was your suggestion. “What can I say, I love my car.” She smiles.

The burgers are good and her laugh is contagious. The two of you sit in her car while you eat, she almost screams when you steal a fry and you pretend to be annoyed when she takes a sip of your drink in retaliation.

You feel so nervous being around her, Paige seems so sure of herself. You can tell she already knows what she wants out of college, out of basketball, even out of girls. Sometimes, even though you devoted so much time to preforming well academically, you weren’t entirely sure it was all gonna work out for you. You feared all your hard work wouldn’t be worth it in the end.

After a moment of silence, you ask her “Does it ever freak you out, having so many people betting on your success? If I were you I’d be so scared of letting people down.” You disguise your own fear as a question for her. Paige looks at you for a moment, then smiles.

“Yeah, It does. I’ve already had moments where it felt like I let everyone down.” She says, looking down at her leg. “But no success comes without pressure, so I guess feeling that way is more of a blessing from God than anything. It’s like He’s reminding me of everything I have to lose. Ion’ think there’s much wrong with that.”

You’re surprised at how mature her answer is. “There’s no way you’re talking about God after you just gave head to a stranger.” You laugh.

She shrugs, a guilty but satisfied look on her face. “You’re not human if you don’t sin once in a while.”

“Amen.” You smile.

The two of you talk about stupid things until it’s well past midnight, and when she drops you off at your dorm you turn to say “I had more fun then I thought I would tonight.”

Paige smiles, her blue eyes staring holes into yours. “It won’t be the last time you have fun with me.” She says, laughing to herself.

“Shut up.” You nudge her. She shakes her head, and waves at you when you start to walk to your building.

You turn to wave back. Even though you know you can’t be anything serious with Paige, you can’t ignore the warm feeling in your stomach when you think about the night you shared. You seriously hope it won’t be the last time.

[cyanidepix]

WHAT IS DEI? ⬇️

The DEI,

DIVERSITY - Age, gender, sexual orientation, race, religion, physical ability, and ethnicity

EQUITY - Equal opportunity and fair treatment

INCLUSION - Making a safe and welcoming environment and every opinion and idea is valued and taken into consideration

Is a program that strived to give minorities (typically groups that have been historically underrepresented) an equal opportunity in the hiring process and in the workplace.

One misconception among conservatives and MAGAs is that the DEI program was implemented to hire “under qualified” POC over white “qualified” people.

Donald Trump has recently given a speech about the deadly D.C plane crash. He blames the crash on the pilots skin color. ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Donald Trump has failed to give any evidence of the pilots skin color causing the crash.

“Are you saying this crash was somehow caused and the result of diversity hiring? And what evidence do you have to support these claims?”

“It just could have been.”

In addition to this, Karoline Leavitt, the White House’s Press secretary, has doubled down on Trumps claim and even says, “When you are flying on a airplane with your loved ones, which every one of us in this room has, do you pray that your plane lands safely and gets you to your destination? Or do you pray the pilot has a certain skin color? I think we all know the answer to that question and as President Donald Trump said yesterday, it’s common sense.”

Both Karoline Leavitt and Donald Trump failed to give any evidence or any form of support on their claims.

TRUMP SIGNED AN EXECUTIVE ORDER ELIMINATING FEDERAL DEI PROGRAMS ⬇️

Every federal department and agency were notified to tell all of their federal employees who work on DEI programs that they are being placed on paid leave immediately. All of those programs across the federal government will soon be shut down.

Companies have now been seen distancing themselves from these DEI policies ⬇️

Meta

McDonald’s

Walmart

Amazon

Lowes

John Deere

Tractor supply

Brown Forman

Ford

Google

Home Depot

Starbucks

Ross

Toyota

Nissan

Facebook

Netflix

Sam’s Club

Without the DEI policy in place, these companies may be unable to incorporate different perspectives and provide a lack of variety. Ultimately leading to the companies lacking in success.

These are companies and ENFORCING their DEI policies ⬇️

E.l.f Cosmetics

Ben & Jerry’s

Apple

Chick fil a

Visa

Logitech

CostCo

Macys

Kroger

Old Navy

Nordstrom

TJ maxx

Go to Foods (Aunt Anne’s, McAlisters, MCinnabon, and Moes Southwest Grill)

Dollar Tree

Wegmans

Sallys Beauty Supply

Trader Joe’s

Walgreens

Do what you will with this information, and please stay safe 💕

[angelstate]

“Unprioritized Love”

Husband!Price x Wife!Reader

Price is a loyal person, he thinks about everyone else before himself and doesn’t hesitate to do something he normally would be against if it means saving the people he cares for, it truly is a blessing at times, the way his priorities don’t falter…until they do.

because he is a loyal person but does not know or pretends not to know in which situations he should stand by one person instead of the other, it’s conflicting for him to choose someone when another person is also expecting his support.

it hurts a lot when you’re caught in that sort of situation with him, you’re his lover, his companion in life, and the person he returns home to, but you’re also the person he leaves behind for his team, you’re the one who waits around for him while the team gets him almost all the time.

and you know jealousy isn’t healthy, that you shouldn’t resent anyone because it's his job, he has to leave to provide for you, you cannot bite the hand that feeds you, it would be wrong, it wouldn’t be pretty, it wouldn’t be fair for him.

so you bite your tongue and nod like a child when he tells you about his job, about him going away once more, for longer this time. and the tears in your eyes are hard to be held back, because God, it hurts a lot to be left behind, all by yourself. away from your family and your lover, only an empty home to satisfy your basic needs.

He doesn’t mean to be an absent presence, the lack of a lover in your life. He truly doesn’t mean to give so little to you, to not hold you every night. but between his job and you…he knows which one he isn’t choosing even if he doesn’t say it out loud. 

“I'll be back when I can, alright?” he speaks, voice gruff as he looks around the room, his hands on his hips, you stay seated on the couch, knees close to your chest and your eyes glued to the TV for a distraction, is better to pretend you don’t care than to show him how much you are beginning to hate the dynamic he created in your life.

“mhm” you hum in agreement, taking a big breath and holding it in before exhaling through your nose, not trusting that if you open your mouth, a sob wouldn’t escape, Price notices the lack of words from your part, you always have something to say, a small joke to make about him better bringing you a souvenir or something from his “trip” but when this time you don’t speak or even dare to look at him makes him anxious.

“Want me to bring you something?” he asks, taking a few steps towards you, looking towards the TV, a baking program playing, and your focus on the show makes him raise an eyebrow, you aren’t one to enjoy cooking so he doesn't understand why you’re watching it. 

“no thanks” you respond, and the answer makes him feel like he’s done something wrong that made you upset, the last 4 days he’s been home replaying in his mind, trying to remember what could’ve made you get angry with him, nothing comes to mind sadly, and he feels clueless about everything surrounding you. 

“I thought you don’t like cooking” He decides to comment, shifting the conversation to something more banal and easy to speak about. “I started baking almost 8 months ago” you answer him back, voice flat and your eyes strained on the TV, the recipe to make pavlova having your main focus, it makes Price frustrated, how you won’t look at him, won’t give him the time of day when he’s leaving tomorrow.

you don’t expect him to know how your life develops and the things that change when he's away most of the time, it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to pay you attention when he already has a tough and complicated job to do, his salary pays for the kitchen supplies and food after all. it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to know you... god, how stupid is that?

“You didn’t tell me” Price states, his voice carrying a heaviness that reveals he is irritated about not being told something he should’ve known if he paid attention to the new things in the kitchen like the stand mixer next to the electric oven. 

“I thought I mentioned it when I gave you to try the brownies I made yesterday” you retort, your eyes landing on him for a second before returning to the TV, your gaze isn’t welcoming or warm and it creates a pit on his stomach to see you so detached and unresponsive to something he knew should make you upset.

It brings a sort of heaviness to his chest as he notices he doesn’t have the right to feel offended about not being told something when you should be upset about him not noticing in the first place something that occurred in his own home. It is hypocritical and he knows it.

Price stays silent for a long time, the sound of the TV filling in the silence that was created between the two of you, he feels out of place, not knowing how to answer you, what to do, what is the problem he feels he should be fixing right now.

“you should start packing” you comment after almost five minutes, and that phrase is said with a monotone tone, not one of sadness or a little bit of frustration that he’s leaving again, it's a tone that just states the obvious, you declare that he should pack his bag once more because otherwise he would leave with nothing for his mission and that wouldn’t be optimal.

“Can you help me pack?” He asks for a favor you often offer without him mentioning wanting your help. tonight you don’t offer assistance, almost like you aren’t faced by his departure, used to his absence, used to his side of the bed being empty.

“I’m watching TV” you speak and his heart breaks a little bit, you don’t sound apologetic as you often do when you’re not able to help him, and he’s leaving but he feels you left instead, that the girl he married is no longer in the house even though he has you in front of him, too focused on looking at the tv to help him.

he nods at your answer and doesn’t try to persuade you into doing something you don’t want to, it wouldn’t be fair to force you to help him just because he wants you to, it isn’t fair for you to give a hand and for him to take your arm. Loving someone isn’t really fair.

Only when he leaves the living room to go pack do your tears make their way out of your eyes, running down your cheeks as you cry silently, vision too blurry to even distinguish the images on the TV, it feels almost pathetic to be crying alone, your lover packing to leave and not be able to bring yourself to help him abandon you once again.

If you were his pet it would be abuse for him to just leave, but you're a woman and therefore being alone and left behind isn’t unexpected, being the one to stay home is almost an obligation when your lover leaves to provide for you even if you wish they stayed.

you’re not sure how it begins to be fair to be put in this situation, when the missions of 4 weeks turned into 4 months. When knowing everything about each other turned into barely remembering anniversaries and birthdays.

You don’t want to say the relationship fell apart because you doubt there’s anything at all to be destroyed anymore, you love him though, the pain in your chest and the tears falling from your eyes are proof of that, but you are not sure John loves you.

It’s uncertain how he views you after not spending time together for almost two years, you doubt there is nothing more than just an acknowledgment of your existence in his life, a statement that he knows you're his partner but not enough love to call you his lover.

“Why are you crying darling?” the sudden voice of Price pulls you out of your thoughts, the place next to you on the couch sinking as he takes a sit beside you, resting his elbows on his knees while his eyes examine your expression, you look utterly distraught about something, your breathing uneven and shaky as you begin to sob loudly, unable to talk as all your emotions came crashing down.

and the sight of you crying, digging your nails into your thighs, and being desperate for a peace that will not come, makes a heavy feeling of guilt and worry sit on his shoulders, wrapping an arm around your waist and another under your knees, bringing you into his lap and putting your face on the crook of his neck while you cried, sobs muffled against his skin, your tears wetting his shirt.

“take a deep breath love” Price says in your ear, your breathing so erratic that it makes him worried you will suffocate at some point because of the lack of oxygen in your body, he feels your chest against him as you do as he told you, taking deep breaths the best you can, trying to calm down for your and his sake.

you’ve never been one to cry with so much despair, to need his comfort in times of need because you managed well on your own, he was never around to solve your sorrow either so why bother? But today, he is the reason you're crying and it seems fair that he is the one to comfort you, that your only chore is to cry and keep your breathing somewhat stable while he does everything else to fix what he broke.

He doesn't know where to begin though, unaware of where he stands or what he should do to bring peace into your mind, what words will fix his mistake, and what words will tear you apart even more, he doesn’t want to cause you harm, not consciously, not right now. it wouldn’t be fair to you, it wouldn’t be fair to your heart, it would be cruel. and he doesn’t want to be cruel to you, not anymore.

“I’m sorry love…I should’ve been good to you” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, rocking you back and forth on his lap, soothing you like he would to a child, his voice low and soft, his hand caressing your thighs in a comforting manner. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t notice that you started baking, it was wrong, I didn’t notice you when I should’ve noticed every change you’ve had over the last two years” he continuous, speaking out the guilt he carried in his chest the moment he saw you and heard you break down into tears, your sobs engraved in his mind.

“I’m really sorry for missing out on all of this when I was gone, I shouldn’t have been such a bad husband, you don’t deserve that” he sighs, his eyes stinting a little bit from the tears beginning to form, and your calmer now, sniffling and whimpering, the tears slowly stopping, but it seems that your distraught was transferred to him because he doesn’t feel at ease, he feels the guilt eat him alive while he soothes you.

“I don't want you to leave…” you mumble, adjusting on his lap, your head resting against his chest, you have never wanted him to leave home, to go on missions for months on end with little to no contact with your lover, it feels like you're mourning him every time he goes away and doesn’t give you a small message to let you know he wasn’t killed.

“I know sweet girl” he replies, he doesn’t want to leave either, he never wants to, even though he continues to do so. It's a complicated situation, one he doesn’t dare to think about too much because he’ll end up ripping his heart out, his loyalty not being able to distribute equally for you and his team, always the latter winning even if he doesn’t dare to admit it.

he wants to promise you he’ll return quickly this time and will take a leave just to spend time with you, to dedicate more time to what's left of your relationship, he doesn’t want your marriage to fail, you’re the only woman he wants, the only one he had ever seen himself grow old together, he doesn’t want to let that go because of his own stupid and selfish mistakes.

He has to leave tomorrow, but when he’s back he’ll fix everything.

“I'll be back soon” he mumbles against your hair, face buried in it as breathes in your smell, trying to engrave it in his mind, to not forget this time details about you he has always loved. 

Thankfully, his promise becomes reality, and after two weeks of loneliness that have never felt heavier on your chest, he returns, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a smile on his lips, happy to see you, to see the warmth and loving gaze you always give him back in your eyes after all this time.

He steps through the door, your face pressed against his chest, refusing to let go of him, fearing he would leave even if it wasn’t unreasonable, he had returned early for you, he had seen his mistakes and was fixing what never should’ve been broken

Peace is restored in your home, love is flourishing once again in your marriage, and whatever plans you had made to start over get discarded, you’re already having a fresh start, one that doesn’t involve leaving your lover. this time is a start with a more conscious man who is ready to do everything right by you, to never let his job affect the way he loves you. He's learning that his wife comes first, that his life outside of the military also has the same and more importance than his job.

(little reminder: I'm taking requests if you want me to write something specific xx)

[sincerelyhunnybee]

unchained | dark romance w. dabi

chapter 4

wc: 4.6k

cw: captivity/abduction, psychological distress, power imbalance, sensory discomfort, dubious morality, surveillance, toga being scary, dabi being soft ???(ooc)

ೀfrom bee: surprise, it's an early chapter drop! felt really inspired to finish this one quickly. the pressure of school is also upon me because i start a summer class this monday :(( hope fully my updates will stay consistent. i can only hope you enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it. :)) support on ao3!

Just a tray, waiting by the door. Food again—something warm. Something different.

For a moment, your body stalls, not from fear but from confusion. He always brought it in. Said something. Gave you a look, at least. But this time?

Nothing.

Your socked feet against the cold floor as you cross the room, slow and cautious, like something might lurch out of the shadows if you move too fast. You crouch by the tray and stare.

Oatmeal. A banana. A boiled egg. Not ration scraps or reheated soup. There’s more thought and care being put in to this meal.

You don’t touch it right away. You pick up the spoon, hold it like it might be a message folded in metal.

He’s trying to get in your head. Or maybe you’re already in his.

You eat. Your tastebuds not granting you the satisfaction of savoring the meal. But it’s not comfort. Not really. It’s just fuel in a cage with a semi-soft bed and hot running water.

After eating, you place your tray by the door, where he normally picks it up, and you sit back on the mattress, and wait.

And eventually—he shows.

The door whines open without warning. Dabi steps inside with a dog-eared paperback.

He tosses it onto the mattress beside you with casual disinterest.

You glance down. The Count of Monte Cristo.

“Subtle,” you say dryly.

He gives a half-shrug, eyes already scanning the corners of the room. “Figured you’d start talking to the walls if I didn’t give you something else to do.”

You run your fingers over the cover. “What is this? A hostage enrichment program?”

“You're welcome.”

You pause. Then smirk faintly. “Didn’t peg you as a reader.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you as the type to survive this long.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. Just awkward. Uneasy. Like two people trying to remember which mask to wear.

You look back at the book. “Is this supposed to mean something? Revenge and all that?”

“It’s a story,” he says simply, folding his arms. “Take it or leave it.”

You turn the book over in your hands, flipping through a few worn pages. The margins are underlined. Not recently. But intentionally. You don’t ask if it’s his copy.

“Did you used to read a lot?” you ask instead, not looking up.

There’s a pause.

“Before.”

That word again. Before.

“Sometimes,” he says eventually. “It's hard to focus when you’re on fire.”

You laugh—soft and hollow. “Fair.”

He sits across from you again, in the same chair, the one he always seems to claim like a ritual. The distance between you stays the same. The tension, however, does not.

You shift on the mattress, letting your legs stretch out over the side. “So. . . Are you planning on keeping me here forever, or just until you get bored?”

He doesn’t answer.

You look up at him. “Because it’s starting to feel like either way, I die here. Doesn’t matter if it’s by your hands or theirs.”

He regards you for a long beat. “You’re not dead.”

“Yet.”

“That’s more than most get.”

The weight in those words slams into you harder than expected. Like there’s a ledger in his head, and you’re still on the right side of it—for now.

You chew your bottom lip, then try again. “Do you even know what they’re going to do with me?”

Another long pause. “I don’t ask.” he states quietly.

You blink. “You don’t ask?”

He shrugs, eyes cast somewhere over your shoulder. “Nothing good ever comes from the answer.”

It makes you cold. Not because you believe he’s lying. But because you believe he isn’t.

“Why bother feeding me then? Why give me books and let me shower and—” You cut yourself off before your voice cracks. “Why pretend I’m not just another loose end?”

His jaw ticks. “You don’t scream.”

You freeze. “What?”

“You don’t beg. You don’t cry. You just… sit. Think. Talk.” He shifts, like the words are too sharp in his mouth. “Makes it easier.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you don’t.

The silence returns to fill the gaps in the words you both would to say, but don’t. This time like a wall.

You pick at the corner of the book again.

“…You ever miss it?” you ask, almost to yourself.

He glances at you.

“Normal,” you clarify. “Whatever that means.”

He lets out a faint scoff. “Normal’s just another lie people cling to.”

“That’s not a ‘no’.”

Glacier-like eyes stare into your own, bottom lid twitching. And before he can speak, someone playfully knocks. The door opens a sliver.

“Daaabiiii,” Toga sing-songs, head peeking through. “Shigaraki wants you. Something about a recon detail.”

She pauses when she sees you.

Her eyes flicker over you—curious, hungry.

You stiffen under her gaze.

Dabi doesn’t turn to look at her. “Out.”

Toga pouts. “I was being polite.”

“Get. Out.”

“You’re no fun.” She twirls a knife between her fingers and sighs. 

Then she’s gone.

The door shuts a little too hard, but not before she gives you one last wink and a smile.

A warning wrapped in teeth.

Dabi doesn’t move for a long moment. He brings his fingers to the bridge of his nose, rubbing it.

Sucking a deep breath, he finally stands. Doesn’t look at you when he speaks.

“You’ll be fine. Just read the damn book.”

He walks out.

And this time, the silence he leaves behind feels different. Less like prison.

More like something just waiting to cave in.

-

The screen flickers, casting pale light across his face in the dark.

Dabi sits at the desk where the monitor broadcasts the current enigma in his life. An elbow rests on the grainy wood surface, supporting his head up while he continues to observe the grainy black-and-white feed in front of him. His right leg bounces up and down as his mind races. 

You're sitting cross-legged on the mattress, the one he dragged in two nights ago after hearing the way your breathing changed when you slept on concrete. You’re touching the book he left—haven’t opened it yet. Just picking at the edges like you think it might burn you. 

Maybe it will.

He doesn’t know why he left it. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

Your movements are slower now, more thoughtful, like you’re trying to make sense of what your body remembers when your mind won’t keep up. You don’t talk to yourself. You don’t cry when you think you’re alone. You just sit there and exist like that’s enough. And it’s getting to him. Eating away at every thought.

He shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t matter.

But you do. You’re all he ever thinks about now. 

Dabi exhales slowly, and slings his coat over his shoulders. The door groans on its hinges like a greeting as he pushes it open. You look up sharply, but there’s no fear in your eyes this time—only guardedness. A flicker of suspicion. He feels like that’s worse.

He steps inside and shuts the door behind him with less force than usual. The room feels warmer than it should be.

"Hey," you say carefully.

He doesn’t respond. Just walks over to the chair, drops into it, and rests an ankle on his knee. You notice he’s fidgeting with his fingers.

There’s a long silence.

You break it first..

“I forgot to tell you that I saw someone the other day,” you say. “Blonde. Big eyes. The same one who called for you yesterday. Looked at me like she wanted to carve a heart into my ribs.”

“Toga,” he mutters. “Don’t take it personally. She’s like that with everyone.”

“Comforting.”

“She didn’t touch you, did she?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He doesn’t say what he’d do if she had. You’re not sure if it’s a warning or a promise.

You glance down at the book between you. Your fingers are resting on it again like a nervous tic.

“Did you actually read this?” you ask. “Or was it just lying around?”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “What do you think?”

You flip the cover open. A name is scratched inside in messy handwriting. Not his, probably stolen.

“It's about revenge,” you say, testing the air.

“Isn’t everything?”

You hum quietly, scooting back and leaning back against the wall. For a moment, there's no violence between you. Just steam-thick air, soft breath, the faint rustle of pages as you finally start to read.

He stays longer than he should.

At some point, his head drops back against the chair, lids lowered like he might drift off. You watch the staples along his jawline catch the light, you wonder how it would feel to run your fingers over them.

"Can I ask you something?" you say after a while.

His eyes crack open, one pale blue flickering with tired amusement. "Do you ever stop?"

You ignore the jab. "If they kill me, will you watch?"

The question hangs in the air like smoke.

When he answers, his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “I’d make sure it was quick.”

You flinch. But you don’t look away.

He holds your gaze in his for a long beat. “I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s why it scares me.”

Another silence. He looks away first.

He watches the hallway camera feed from his phone this time, eyes narrowing when he sees Twice pacing two doors down. Muttering to himself again. There’s been talk about movement. Pro Hero patrols shifting east. Pressure rising.

He hears voices down the hall. Shigaraki. Compress. A disagreement.

And he knows your time here is running out.

You’re not a long-term plan. You were never supposed to become anything. But you have.

Dabi scrubs a hand down his face and exhales through his teeth.

When he walks past your door again, he stops.

Just for a second.

And then, against his better judgment, he opens the door

Your head shoots up from the book, you look surprised, even though you shouldn’t be. However, he never comes back twice in one day.

You wait.

“We might move you soon.”

Your heart stutters. “Move me?”

He nods once.

“Why?”

“I don’t ask,” he says again, but this time it’s laced with something else. A warning. A regret. A quiet kind of run while you can, even if there’s nowhere to go.

 “Just… stay sharp.” he softly states.

And before you can ask what that means, before you can ask if he’s coming with you, he’s already gone.

Door shut.

Boots fading.

And the room feels smaller than it ever has before.

-

The hallway is dim, its only light coming from the flickering bulb above the main junction where several of the warehouse corridors meet. Dabi rounds the corner with his coat pulled tighter than usual, trying to walk past unnoticed. He needs air. A cigarette. Something.

He doesn’t get far.

“Touyaaaa~”

Her voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.

Toga steps out from behind a support beam with her arms behind her back, swaying slightly like a child waiting to be praised—or punished. Her hair is a little messier than usual. There's dried blood on her cheek. Not hers.

He doesn’t stop walking.

She follows.

“I saw you go in again,” she says, voice lilting. “That’s four times this week. You usually get bored after once.”

“Maybe I’m just getting more patient,” he mutters.

She giggles. “That’s not it.”

Dabi stops.

Turns.

“They’re cute,” Toga says sweetly, and the way she says it makes his skin crawl. “All soft and scared and grateful. Makes me want to see what color they bleed.”

He doesn’t lunge. He doesn’t raise his voice.

But the heat rises.

“Toga,” he says, and it’s not a warning. It’s a promise.

Her smile doesn’t falter. “I didn’t touch her. You told me not to, remember?”

“You so much as look at them wrong again, I won’t repeat myself.”

Her head tilts, eyes wide, voice dropping to a whisper. “Why do you care?”

He says nothing.

Because he doesn’t have an answer he likes.

Just then, Twice appears from the side hallway, hoodie half-zipped, mouth already mid-sentence.

“I told you guys this was gonna get messy—wait, are we fighting? Is this a fight? Please don’t fight.”

Toga spins toward him with a dramatic sigh. “Our dearest Dabi is getting attached.”

“I am not,” Dabi snaps, too fast.

Twice blinks. “Dude. You brought them food. Like, not even the gross stuff. Real food.”

“They needed to eat.”

“You brought them a book.”

“They were going to start talking to themselves.”

“You put a bed in their room.”

“They were—” He cuts himself off.

Twice raises both gloved hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. I think it’s nice! Creepy. But nice. But also creepy.”

Toga leans back against the wall, twirling a knife idly. “You better be careful, Touya. They’re starting to look at you like you matter.”

Dabi meets her eyes, unflinching. “That’s their mistake.”

“Or yours,” she sings.

Twice snorts, trying to defuse the tension. “Well, we can’t all be emotionally constipated murder machines, right? Right?”

Neither of them laughs.

Dabi turns back toward the hallway, boots scraping the floor as he walks away. “Stay out of their room,” he throws over his shoulder. “Both of you.”

Toga watches him go, expression unreadable.

Twice looks between them and sighs. “Y’know, this is how those enemies-to-lovers stories start. Just saying.”

Toga flips her knife and grins. “Not if I end it first.”

-

The warehouse halls feel colder when he leaves them behind.

Dabi slams the door to his room shut behind him and leans against it for a long moment. He should’ve burned that conversation to ash. Let Toga scratch her curiosity out on someone else. Let Twice run his mouth until it exhausted him. But no.

They’re all watching now.

Not just you.

Their face when I walked in… they looked relieved.That’s the problem.

He pushes off the door, drags a hand through his hair, and crosses the room to the corner where the monitor glows faintly, humming like a heart that won’t die. His thumb grazes the edge of the table as he sits back down.

The feed pulls him in again—grainy, black and white, but clear enough to see you curled up on the mattress, facing the wall. The book he left you is tucked under your arm like it’s something precious. Like it matters.

He taps a knuckle lightly against the monitor frame. Not hard enough to make a sound, just a ghost of a touch. Just enough to admit he’s still here.

They’ll touch them, he thinks, jaw tight. If I stop watching, someone will. Toga, bored and impulsive. Shigaraki, if the wrong idea takes root. Compress, if leverage becomes liability.

He’s seen what happens to people who get left alone in League custody.

And maybe you’re not supposed to be the exception. But you are.

That pisses him off.

He tells himself it’s just a habit now. A way to keep control. A way to monitor the variables, keep the rest of the idiots from getting creative. But when you shift slightly and curl your body tighter on the mattress, Dabi leans closer to the screen like that’ll let him feel the warmth too.

He sits like that for too long.

Boots kicked up, cigarette burning out in his fingers, face lit only by the pale glow of the camera feed.

He can’t trust them with you.

And the more he watches, the more he realizes—

He’s not sure he trusts himself, either.

-

You hear the door before you see him.

It opens quieter this time. Not Dabi’s usual impatient creak—this is something more theatrical. Intentional.

You glance up from the book, body already tensing.

The man who enters doesn’t move like Dabi. He’s smoother. Slower. Every step feels like it’s part of a performance. His clothes are more tailored to his body. His mask glints in the low light as he tips an invisible hat with a flourish.

“Well, well,” he says smoothly. “So this is the infamous guest.”

You straighten, posture taut. “You’re not him.”

“Correct,” he replies, stepping fully into the room, heels of his shoes clicking. “And judging by the way your shoulders just locked up, you already miss him.”

You say nothing.

He chuckles, a deep, velvety sound that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. Curiosity got the better of me.”

He walks toward the chair Dabi usually occupies, but doesn’t sit in it. Instead, he glances around the room like he’s assessing a gallery exhibit. His gaze lands on the book stretched out on its spine, the mattress that your body rests on, the towel folded on a table by the open panel of the bathroom.

“My, my. He’s really gone soft.”

You frown. “Why are you here?”

“To observe,” he says honestly. “To understand why a man like him would bend his routines for someone like you.” 

His words aren’t cruel—but they sting. You aren’t sure why.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you mutter.

“No one ever does,” he replies. “But it’s not about what you ask for. It’s about what you cause by being here.”

You look up sharply. “So what is it? What do you think I’ve caused?”

He finally sits in Dabi’s chair, resting one ankle over his knee like he has all the time in the world. Taking over the presence of your captor companion.

“I think you’ve stirred something dangerous,” he says lightly. “Not because you’ve tried to. But because he’s watching you like he’s looking at something he lost.”

Your heart thuds once, heavy.

“I think,” he continues, voice still polite, “that you should be very careful. Because when a man like Dabi remembers how to care, he starts to remember everything else too.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not your bad thing,” Compress says with a shrug. “But it may become one.”

He stands again, dusting invisible lint from his coat.

“Do you want my advice?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

He leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to send a chill through you.

“Don’t become a weakness. Because we don’t have room for those here.”

Then, just like that, he turns and exits with a dramatic flourish of his mannerisms, leaving behind the faintest scent of spice and smoke.

You stare at the door long after it shuts.

Suddenly, the room feels colder again.

Like no matter how clean you are, you’re still something they’re waiting to use—or discard.

-

The click of the door echoes louder than it should.

You don’t move right away. Just sit there, frame rigid, staring at the space where he stood like you expect him to reappear. Like it was all an illusion, some eerie theatrical piece performed for your benefit.

But the room stays empty.

You press your hands into the mattress, digging your fingers into the weathered material, grounding yourself, but it doesn’t help. Your skin still prickles, not from fear exactly, but from something colder. Something more corrosive.

Don’t become a weakness.

The words replay in your head, over and over, each pass cutting deeper.

You’re already a weakness. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. Not because you’re powerful or important, but because you’re the opposite. Just some unlucky bystander who got dragged into the orbit of monsters playing pretend with power.

But now you’re something else too. A liability. A variable.

You glance toward the corner of the ceiling, toward the watchful eye of the camera lens.

And for the first time since Dabi cut the ties from your wrists, you wish you were still bound.

Because at least then, there were no illusions. No masks pretending to be mercy. No warmth passed off as indifference.

Your throat tightens. Fingers twitching like you can summon some quirk that could shield you from everything you don’t understand. But you're quirkless. Useless. 

You don’t cry. Not yet.

But it’s the first time you feel like maybe you should have, from the start.

Because Mr. Compress didn’t threaten you.

He warned you.

-

A tired creak emits from the door. The noise has conditioned you to flinch.

Dabi stands in the doorway, backlit by the dim hall light. His posture looks exhausted, one hand braced on the doorframe like he’s debating whether to walk in at all.

You straighten your spine, trying to bury the remnants of your unease. But it lingers in your mouth like ash.

His eyes scan the room. You. The mattress. The book, with extra dog-eared pages. His eyebrow twitches.

“What did he say to you?” he asks.

No preamble. No lazy sarcasm.

Just that.

You lift your chin. “So you were watching.”

His expression hardens. “I always watch.” 

You’re not sure if it’s meant to be reassuring or a threat.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say quietly. “It’s not like he hurt me.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

There’s something in his voice that’s more than curiosity. Something… sharp. Controlled, but only just. Like he's already bracing himself to torch the world if the answer’s wrong.

You look away. “He just talked. Said I shouldn’t make myself a weakness. That people like you don’t have room for them.”

A beat passes.

Then another.

You expect a scoff. A dismissal. One of his usual sardonic comebacks.

But instead—

“I told him not to come in here.”

Surprised by the bluntness. “Why?”

His eyes meet yours, unreadable. “Because he doesn’t know the difference between a threat and a warning.”

“…And you do?”

“I know what it looks like when someone’s already lost too much.” His delayed response coming out strained. 

Your breath catches in your throat. That wasn’t what you expected. And the worst part? It sounds like the closest thing to an apology.

He steps into the room and closes the door behind him—not slammed, not locked. Just closed. The air shifts again, heavier now, but not oppressive. Just… full.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of him,” Dabi says after a long pause.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not sure who I shouldn’t be afraid of.”

He exhales, steps closer, but doesn’t sit. He stays near the wall, like he doesn’t trust himself near you right now.

“You want the truth?” he asks.

You nod, slowly.

His voice drops low. “Everyone in this place is dangerous. Some of them more than others. Some of them are less honest about it. But I’m the one who keeps them out.”

You study him, heart thudding harder than you’d like.

“Why?” you whisper.

His mouth pulls tight. His gaze drops for a second.

And then, barely audible— “Because someone has to.”

The room is so quiet. You can hear the distant hum of the warehouse electricity through the walls. For a second, you wonder if he regrets saying it. If he’s going to backpedal, throw up that wall of cold indifference again.

He just stays there—standing in a room too small for how much space he takes up. For how much he’s taking up inside of you now. You’re still not sure if it’s fear, or something far more complicated.

You hug your body tighter,, suddenly aware of the way your shoulders still tremble—not from cold, but from the aftermath of Mr. Compress’s words. From the knowledge that your presence here is changing something that maybe wasn’t meant to bend.

“You . . . okay?” Dabi asks, voice low.

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Am I okay?

“I don’t think I’ve been okay since I woke up in this room,” you murmur. “But . . . I’m not falling apart.”

He nods slowly, like that’s the most he can hope for. Then, without a word, he moves to the chair—but instead of sitting, he lowers himself down onto the floor. Just beside the mattress. Not too close. Just enough to make himself… present.

You glance at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

He stretches one leg out, crosses the other over it. “Making sure no one else drops by.”

Your heart kicks a little harder.

“You’re staying?” you ask.

“Just for a bit.”

You lie back against the wall, still watching him. The mattress creaks beneath you. He keeps his gaze forward, focused on the wall, like looking at you too long might undo him.

“Don’t read into it,” he adds.

“I already have,” you reply, barely above a whisper.

That makes the corner of his mouth twitch—just a fraction, but it’s there. Something close to a smile. Or the memory of one.

The silence that follows isn’t heavy this time. It’s the kind that settles around two people who no longer feel like strangers, even if they haven’t decided what they are yet.

“You always sit on the floor when you’re being nice?” you ask quietly.

He shrugs. “Better than standing guard outside. You’d just get paranoid.”

“I already am.”

He glances at you then briefly.

“You’ve got more fight in you than you think.”

You hold his gaze. “You keep saying things that sound like compliments.”

“Maybe you’re hearing them that way.”

You both fall quiet again.

And slowly—carefully—you stretch your hand out, let it hang off the edge of the mattress. You don’t expect him to take it. You don’t even know if you want him to. But something inside you wants him to know it’s there.

He doesn’t move right away.

But then—softly, without looking—he shifts his hand just enough that his pinky brushes yours. Not a grip. Not even a touch, really.

Simply contact.

Enough to say, I’m here.

And for now, that’s enough.

It’s barely a touch.

Flesh to flesh, if you can call what’s left of his skin that. Just the edge of a pinky brushing against yours. The kind of contact most people wouldn’t even notice.

But he notices.

Because he shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be sitting on the floor of a room they use for leverage. Shouldn’t be close enough to see the way your breathing changes when you think he’s not looking. Shouldn’t be watching you the way he does every time you shift like you’re learning how to trust your body again.

But he is.

And now your hand is there—open. An invitation, or a challenge. He can’t tell the difference anymore.

You’re too clean now. Too quiet. Like a smoothed-over scar that hasn't started itching yet.

He told himself he’d just keep watch. That this was about control. About protecting the mission. That you were a loose thread he couldn’t let someone else pull.

But you're more than that now. You’ve become a variable in a system that’s supposed to be airtight. And he hates variables.

They make people soft.

They make people reckless.

And he’s been both before.

He tilts his head, just enough to see the curve of your cheek, the lashes resting against your skin. You’re pretending to sleep—or trying. He doesn’t blame you. Being watched wears a person down. He knows that better than anyone.

Your fingers twitch, ever so slightly, still hanging off the edge of the mattress.

His eyes narrow.

You’re not afraid of me anymore when you should be.

He leans back slowly, resting his head against the cold concrete wall. His joints ache. His scars itch. The room is filled with the intoxicating smell that is you. Pure.

He doesn’t close his eyes.

He can’t.

Because if he does, he might forget that this is a cage. That he’s supposed to be the one holding the keys. Not standing on the inside with you.

He tells himself again: Just keep watch. Just make sure no one else comes in.

But even he knows it’s a lie.

He’s not just watching you.

He’s protecting you.

And the moment Shigaraki figures that out, it’s all going to burn.

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated !

taglist (open + ask to be added): @reggieswriter @d4rlinxs @dabislittlemouse @jelliephia @tulnht @ninja-hxych

[littlebluebird2000]

Twirling Hearts- part 3

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, smut, mature language, sexual harassment/assault, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime...

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy-especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High has a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates…

author's note: this chapter contains sexual content. if you are not comfortable with that, it's okay, i'll see you in the next story. changed up the cover because i felt like it :)

word count: 7k+

follow #bluebirdyeonsieun for updates on the story. for some reason, my tags aren't working :(

part : 1. , 2. , 3. , 4., 5

The stage lights dimmed, and your final pose held steady as the music faded. The applause were thunderous, echoing in your chest like a second heartbeat. You were breathless, but not just from the dance—from the rush of finally performing the piece you’d poured everything into.

Backstage, the adrenaline still buzzed through your veins as you pulled off your pointe shoes and smoothed your hair back. When you stepped out into the hallway, your friends were already there—Baku and Gotak cheering loudly, Juntae clapping with a smile, and Sieun… standing a little apart. His hands are in the pockets of his dark jacket, his posture calm, his hair a little messy like he’s been fidgeting with it.

"You were incredible," Juntae said kindly, when you approached.

"Like, no kidding. You were floating!" Gotak added, eyes wide. “Not to be rude, but I never thought I would enjoy a ballet.” You thanked them, laughing a little bit, feeling flushed and grateful.

Baku handed you a bouquet, wrapped in pastel tissue paper. It came from all of them.

“You absolutely killed it, Y/N! That one spin—you know the one—crazy.” You smiled.

You glance toward Sieun, half expecting him to look away like he usually might, but he doesn’t. His gaze stays on you, steady and unreadable, and it makes your stomach twist in a way you’re not prepared for. You suddenly feel shy, clutching the flowers in your hands a little tighter. “You were… really good.” He finally said.

You raise a brow, teasing. “Just really good?”

There’s the smallest shift in his mouth. Not quite a smile, but the kind of expression that says more than it shows. His eyes sparkled a little bit. Happiness. “You looked like you belonged up there.” He added softly.

You could feel your heart tug at the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you.”

He gives a slight nod, but his eyes stay on yours for a beat longer, something warm and unreadable in them. He then glanced away, his hand rising to the back of his neck as if he could rub away the tension building there.

Behind you, Baku makes a noise—something between a groan and a laugh. While the others broke into light chatter again, he leaned close to your ear, his voice low and amused. “He didn’t say much.” He whispered, “But he watched the whole thing like he was afraid to blink. Wouldn’t stop staring. His face was red for half the performance.”

You turned your head to him, but Baku had already straightened up, grinning innocently like nothing had happened.

You glanced at Sieun again, who was now pretending to be distracted by the recital program in his hands. The tips of his ears were indeed pink. You smiled silently to yourself, celebrating this small victory.

You take a second to look at them—each one. The faces that showed up for you. The people who made this night feel less terrifying, less like a test, and more like something to be proud of. You didn’t know this kind of friendship was possible when you first walked into Eunjang. You weren’t looking for it. But it found you anyway—in small gestures, in loyalty, in shared moments like this.

A warmth spreads through your chest. Thank you, you think, but it’s not just for tonight. It’s for everything that’s brought you to this point. For them. For Sieun. And for the unexpected comfort you’ve found along the way.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The night air was bustling with energy as you step outside the theatre, the crowd from the performance spilling out onto the streets. The breeze ruffled your skirt and a shiver passed through you. Families gather, taking pictures, congratulating their children and loved ones, the laughter and chatter blending with the hum of voices.

"Y/N." Juntae’s voice cuts through the noise, and you turn to see him looking around. "Where are your parents? They didn’t come?" The question is casual, like he’s just making conversation, but you feel that familiar twist in your stomach.

“They couldn’t make it tonight.” You said. There was a pause, the kind that usually came with sympathy or concern, but you spoke again before anyone could offer it. “I’m not upset or anything.” You added, adjusting the bouquet in your arms. “It was actually kind of nice. Less pressure.”

Sieun didn’t say anything, but something flickered across his face. It was understanding.

Baku clapped a hand on your shoulder, light and casual. “Their loss. You were amazing.”

“I was thinking… If you guys aren’t busy, do you want to come over at my place? Just to hangout?” You said, casually.

Baku lit up. “Yeah, I’m in—”

Then his eyes cut to Sieun.

He blinked once. And then—

“Oh… wait.”

It was tiny, the shift in his voice—but it was there. His posture changed. His tone got lighter. Too casual. Sieun caught it instantly. His jaw ticked. He turned slowly to look at Baku with a deadpan face.

Baku threw an arm around Juntae’s shoulders. “We can’t go. We have something planned.”

Juntae blinked. “We do?”

Baku tightened his grip. “ You know—the thing. We’ve got that super important thing.”

Gotak looked confused. “Uh? What thing?”

“The thing,” Baku repeated, giving Juntae a look that screamed please say something.

Juntae nodded too hard. “Yeah, totally. That big group… uh… charity assignment.”

Sieun exhaled through his nose.

Gotak frowned. “Charity assignment?”

“Yeah, we’re giving… our time,” Juntae said, clearly making it up as he went.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Sieun didn’t say anything. He only rolled his eyes—barely, but it was there—and looked away like this entire conversation was physically hurting him.

“Volunteering? At 9PM? On a Friday night?” You asked, eyes narrowing.

Baku’s smile twitched. “Yeah. It’s a… night shift.”

Gotak looked between them, puzzled. “Wait, are you including me in that? I didn’t sign up for anything.”

Baku smiled brightly. “You did, actually.”

“Uh?”

“You volunteered.” Baku added. “Last week.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Well, you did.” Baku said firmly.

Gotak frowned. “I just wanted to go to Y/N’s.”

“And that’s noble,” Baku said, already guiding him away. “But the community need you more.”

Juntae gave a little wave and the three of them disappeared down the sidewalk. Gotak’s confused protests faded with distance.

Sieun didn’t look at you. He was still staring in the direction they’d gone, expressionless. “He thinks he’s clever.”

You smiled, a little amused, a little shy. “But you’re still coming over, right?”

He finally looked at you. “Of course.”

You nodded once, small and sure. “Good.”

You smile softly, a sense of relief washing over you at his words. The tension between you both seems to ease, just a little. Sieun follows beside you, the quiet between you both comfortable now. His presence, as always, is calming, but there’s something different tonight. A softness in the way he walks, in the way he occasionally glances at you from the corner of his eye.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The apartment was dimly lit, washed in the soft gold of a standing lamp in the corner. You kicked off your shoes and set the bouquet down on the kitchen counter, glancing back to see Sieun still lingering at the doorway, hands in his pockets, his gaze cautious as it swept over the space.

“Make yourself at home,” you said, offering a small smile as you padded toward the kitchen. “It’s a bit messy. I didn’t really have time to clean before the performance.”

“It’s fine.” he said, stepping inside.

You rose onto the tip of your toes, fingers grazing the top shelf of the cabinet as you searched for a vase. Nothing. Just an empty row of mugs and glasses. After a pause, you reached for a clear pitcher instead. “I should get these in water quickly.” You said, voice low as you filled the jug at the sink. The water rushed quietly, echoing in the silence between you. You carefully loosened the wrapping around the stems and arranged the bouquet in the pitcher, your fingers brushing across the soft petals.

When you turned around, Sieun was standing in the middle of the room, looking out of place but oddly endearing, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Want to sit?” You offered, gesturing to the couch.

He gave a small nod and walked over, settling stiffly at the far end. You poured two glasses of water and joined him, setting them down on the table between you. A quiet moment stretched, neither of you speaking.

“You’re really okay with your parents not coming?” He asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Yes… and no.” You said honestly. You turned toward him, leaning your elbow on the backrest. “I’m sad they didn’t make the effort.. I’m angry, too. I fought so hard to get into this ballet academy—because my mom wanted it so badly—and now she doesn’t even bother to show up. Not even a good luck text.” You exhaled. “But in a weird way, I’m glad. I didn’t have their pressure hanging over me. I could just focus on the performance. So yeah… I was sad, but I wasn’t at the same time… If that makes any sense.”

“It does.” He said quietly. He hesitated, then asked, “Do you even like dancing?”

“Lucky for Mom, I do.” You gave a small laugh. “Not as obsessively as she’d like, but yeah—I love it.”

“Well,” He began, visibly swallowing. “You’re… really good at it.” His voice was soft, almost flat, but underneath it was something uncertain.

“Oh. Thank you.” You blinked, surprised by the sudden compliment. You looked down, fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

“You looked…” His voice drifted, and he stopped. His hands tightened slightly on his knees.

You glanced at him. His face was half-shadowed in the lamplight, jaw tense with a subtle flicker of nerves.

“It’s okay,” You said gently. “You can say it. I won’t laugh.”

“Pretty.” He murmured, barely louder than a breath. “Really pretty.”

Your breath caught. You smiled down for a moment, then looked up at him, heart fluttering.

“You’re sweet.” You said , the words slipping out more quietly than you meant them to. You smiled shyly, eyes lowering as warmth crept into your cheeks.

He blinked. “Me? Sweet?”

There was no sarcasm in his voice—just genuine confusion, like it wasn’t something he’d ever considered. “No one’s ever called me that.”

You looked up at him, eyes warm, a quiet fondness in your expression. “Maybe they just don’t know you that well.”

For a moment, you hesitated. Then—quietly, deliberately—you scooted closer, closing the space between you by just a few inches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like everything.

Sieun’s breath hitched. You noticed the way his spine stiffened, then relaxed again, like he didn’t know what to do with the sudden closeness. His eyes flicked down, then back up—searching your face, uncertain but not pulling away.

Your knees nearly touched.

You could feel his warmth now, that quiet, steady presence of him. His hand shifted slightly on his knee, fingers twitching like he almost wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, teasing, but only a little. You didn’t know where your sudden boldness came from, but you were glad for it at the moment.

His eyes flicked to yours. “A little,” He admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “You make me nervous.”

You smiled—shy, surprised, and something more. “Good,” you said. “You make me nervous too.”

He inhaled sharply through his nose, the sound enough to make your pulse race. You glanced down at his hand, still curled tensely on his knee, the tips of his fingers twitching.

Carefully, you let your hand slide just slightly—until your pinky brushed against his. Just a touch. Barely there. He froze. His fingers were cold and a little stiff at first, but they didn’t pull away. You held your breath, unsure if you’d gone too far—but then, slowly, his fingers slid into yours—tentative, clumsy, like he was afraid he might do it wrong. His hand was warm, just a little shaky, and he held on like he didn’t quite believe it was happening.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” You said quietly.

His voice was even softer. “Me too.”

Sieun still hadn’t looked away. He was holding your gaze now, like he was finally letting you see all the things he’d kept locked behind silence. But even now, you could feel it—he was holding back. Not because he didn’t want to move closer, but because he was scared to cross that invisible line.

Slowly, you leaned in, just enough for him to feel your breath. His eyes widened, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back.

"I know you won’t do anything unless I do it first." You said quietly, voice low and steady, though your heart was pounding like crazy. A small, daring smile tugged at your lips. “So I’ll go first.”

Sieun stared at you — frozen, wide-eyed, like the words knocked the air right out of him. His fingers twitched beneath your hold, and for a split second, he looked like he might run.

So you leaned in before he could.

The space between you disappeared with the soundless rush of a breath, your eyes locking with his until your nose brushed his, until you could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

You kissed him.

Your lips met his—softly. Carefully. You barely pressed into it, just enough to feel the warmth of his mouth, the uncertainty trembling through him. He was motionless at first, tense as stone, and then…

He kissed you back.

Harder than you expected. Hungrier. Like something inside him had snapped and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. His hand slid up to cup your cheek, fingers trembling, thumb brushing just below your eye as if to make sure you were real. His other hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, like he didn’t care if he breathed again.

You let out a soft sound against his mouth, and he shivered.

When you finally pulled back, your chests were rising and falling fast, and his lips were red from the kiss — a little parted, like he couldn’t believe it.

Sieun swallowed. His voice came out rough and low. “I didn’t know it could be like that.” He whispered, eyes closed.

And then you kissed him again— slower this time, more deliberate. You wanted him to feel it. To understand without words just how long you had been holding this back.

Sieun responded with the same quiet desperation, his lips softer now, more careful, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His hand slid to your shoulder, anchoring himself to the moment. His touch was shaky, uncertain — but you felt the way his body leaned into yours.

You parted your lips slightly, and Sieun froze — just for a beat — before following your lead. His breath caught, and a quiet sound escaped him, somewhere between a sigh and a low groan, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It stirred something in you.

You pulled him closer, your hand curling into the back of his sweatshirt. The kiss deepened, heat blooming between you, and for a moment, nothing else existed. Just the hush of breath, the pulse in your ears, and the way Sieun tasted like something new and dangerous and addictive.

You finally broke apart to breathe, foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing hard, there was a quiet pause.

The next kiss wasn’t rushed. It unfolded like something inevitable — slow and simmering, deepening with each passing second. Your hands found his face again, your thumbs brushing the edge of his cheekbones as his lips moved with growing confidence against yours. There was a hunger in him now, restrained but real, like he’d been holding back for too long and finally allowed himself to want.

Sieun’s hand slipped to your waist, hesitant at first, then firmer as he pulled you closer.

When your fingers slid into his hair, his breath hitched. That small sound — vulnerable, unguarded — made your pulse quicken. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, feeling him melt into it with you.

“You’re shaking.” You whispered.

He looked dazed, a faint blush spreading across his skin. ‘I… don’t know what I’m doing.” He said, voice low.

You brushed a strand of hair away from his face, revealing his forehead. ‘Me neither.’ You said softly. ‘But this… it feels right.’

A pause.

“You don’t have to hold back, you know.” You whispered, your voice barely audible, but the words hung in the space between you like a challenge, a quiet invitation. Sieun’s eyes darkened for the briefest moment, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. His hand now rested at the small of your back, pressing you to his side.

“Are you sure…?” he whispered, the words coming out rougher than he intended.

You nodded slowly, your voice quiet but steady. “I’m sure.” For a brief moment, his eyes locked onto yours, his gaze dark intense. A pulse of heat shot through you at the weight of it, and before you could even register what was happening, he leaned in.

It was clumsy, but there was something urgent in it. It was desperate, consuming. His lips were bruising, demanding, but you welcomed it. You couldn’t get enough of him. His tongue slipped past your lips, exploring, testing, as if he were tasting something he’d been craving for too long. He was fully in it now, giving himself over to the intensity of the moment.

His hands down your back were pulling you closer, his fingers dug into your skin. Sieun’s hands moved up to your waist, lifting you slightly as he pulled you fully on his lap, closer, straddling him. Your skirt wrinkled up and the couch creaked slightly beneath your shifting weight.

A quiet sound slipped from your lips as his hands moved lower, fingers skimming the bare skin of your thighs. His mouth left yours, trailing soft, lingering kisses down the curve of your neck. His breath was warm, unsteady, ghosting over your skin like he was trying to memorize every inch.

You felt the slightest tremble in his hands—not from hesitation, but from nerves he couldn’t quite hide. Each kiss sent a shiver down your spine, the combination of his uncertainty and growing desire making your chest tighten. His name left you in a whisper, barely audible.

Just as you were lost in the kiss, the ringing of your cellphone pierced the air, the shrill sound startling both of you. You pulled back for a moment, your breath heavy, your lips tingling from the kiss. The name on the screen made your heart skip a beat.

Baku.

Sieun’s eyes flickered down to your phone on the couch. A flicker of something dark passed across his face as he saw the name. You started to reach for your phone, but Sieun’s hand shot out to stop you. He took your wrist gently but firmly. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and full of quiet possessiveness. “Leave it.” He murmured, his voice low. It was holding a slight edge of something dangerous.

You froze for a moment, taken aback by the tone in his voice. His thumb gently brushed over your wrist as if trying to calm you, but his eyes never left yours. His breathing was still uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath you. You were caught between answering and staying in this moment, the tension between you palpable. What if it was important? But when you looked back at Sieun, his gaze told you everything. He wasn’t going to let you answer.

He leaned in again, kissing you, this time with an urgency that couldn’t be ignored. The phone’s ringing faded into the background, insignificant compared to the electric feeling of being so close to him, of being his. There was no hiding the desire in his eyes now, no pretending. You could feel the weight of him, his body reacting to yours, and it made your heart race.

With a slight movement, you shifted in his lap, your body brushing against his in just the right way, making you both moan. He let out a low breath, eyes closed, struggling to maintain control.

Sieun’s grip on your waist tightened as he pushed you down and help you rubbed yourself against himself, the friction of your bodies sending a rush of heat through both of you. His lips went back to yours.

You couldn’t help but gasp as the sensation hit you all at once, the feeling of being so close to him after so long, kissing him like this… “Y/N…” His voice was strained, thick with emotion. He was hard beneath you, his body reacting to yours in ways that made you melt.

His lips move to your jawline, then to your neck, and you gasps, tilting your head back to give him more access. It was all too much, but it felt so good. It felt right.

“Can you take it off?” Sieun asked, his voice low and breathless. “Just… that skirt—” He exhaled sharply, almost like it hurt to say. “It’s been driving me crazy.”

Without a word, you leaned back and reached for the zipper, easing it down slowly. The skirt slipped over your hips and slid down your legs in a soft rustle. You rose briefly on unsteady legs, letting it fall to the floor, forgotten. Then you returned to him, settling into his lap—your knees on either side of his thighs, arms wrapping gently around his shoulders, pulling him back into you.

A low groan escaped Sieun, your scent overwhelming every thought in his head. His hands settled instinctively on your hips, then lower, gripping and kneading the skin of your ass as you moved against him. From this angle, he had an unfiltered view of what had consumed his thoughts for weeks.

The thin fabric between you offered little cover—his gaze lingered, hungry and stunned, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

Then his mouth was on yours again, harder this time—needy, desperate.

A gasp escaped you as another wave of pleasure washed over you, your head instinctively tilting to rest against Sieun’s neck, your breath warm and unsteady against his skin. “Oh, Sieun…” You whimpered, your voice barely a breath, almost lost in the heat of the moment. Your fingers clenched at his shirt, desperate, grounding yourself to him.

The air between you was thick with tension, each breath shared between you more uneven than the last. But then Sieun’s hands faltered, and he pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with something more than just desire.

“Y/N, wait.” He breathed, his voice strained. “Please… slow down.” His eyes filled with a quiet intensity. It wasn’t hesitation, but a deeper longing, a desire to stretch this moment for as long as he could.

“I don’t want this to end too fast,” He whispered, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “I want to make it last.”

He kissed you again, but slower this time, lips soft against yours, savoring each breath, each brush of skin. There was no rush now—just the quiet exchange of breaths and the gentle press of your bodies against one another, still moving, but slowly this time.

You followed his lead, your hands finding their way back to his shoulders, holding him close as the kiss deepened, but at a gentler pace. Every shift of his lips and hips felt like it was savoring the moment, the quiet pressure of his touch making your heart race. You stayed like that for a while, tangled in each other, kissing until the world outside blurred away.

He groaned again, low in his throat. That sound — raw and unfiltered — sent a pulse of heat through you. You lifted your head a little bit, searching for his eyes. You couldn’t help but get lost in the soft intensity of his gaze.

"Your eyes... they're so beautiful." You whispered, breathless. His brow furrowed. “Everyone says they're scary... But I think they're beautiful." You leaned in just enough to press your forehead against his, heart pounding.

Something in him cracked at your words—like a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding suddenly gave way. He groaned, and his mouth found yours again, this time with more urgency. The kiss deepened, growing hungrier, more consuming, as though he needed to feel everything you were offering him.

His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you against him as your bodies moved in sync. The rhythm stayed steady, but the intensity built, slowly and surely—until it was all heat and quiet desperation. Sieun faltered slightly, his expression cracking under the weight of everything he was feeling.

Soft moans spilled between your mouths as you held onto each other, coming undone together in a moment that felt impossibly raw and real.

Your breath came in short, shallow pulls, mixing with his as you stayed tangled together, your bodies still pressed close. Sieun’s forehead rested against your shoulder, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves. His arms were still locked around your waist, as if letting go too soon might undo what just happened. You felt the tremble in him—not fear, but something fragile and overwhelmed.

You stayed like that, wrapped around each other, breathless and dazed. Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers threading gently through his damp hair as your other arm draped across his shoulders.

Neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, you started to giggle.

Sieun lifted his head slightly, brow furrowing like he wasn’t sure what he missed. You bit your lip, trying to hold it in, but the laugh bubbled out again, soft and breathless.

“We skipped so many steps.” You murmured, eyes crinkling. “Like—ridiculously many.”

His confusion cracked into something looser, something warmer. And then he laughed—an actual laugh, low and unsteady at first, like he wasn’t used to it. You froze for a moment, surprised by the sound, your heart catching.

It was the first time you’d heard him laugh.

You stared, wide-eyed, something warm blooming in your chest. “Was that a laugh?”

He looked away, but there was the smallest smile on his lips. “Maybe.”

Your heart fluttered, and you pressed closer to him, both of you still breathless, but now wrapped in something quieter. Something safe.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The atmosphere was relaxed, but Baku couldn’t hide the grin plastered on his face.

As Gotak and Juntae casually went about their snacks and drinks, Baku’s eyes were glued to his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen as he checked for any missed notifications—particularly, the unanswered calls to Y/N.

When he saw there were still no replies, he let out a small laugh to himself, almost maniacal in its glee.

“Bro, what’s so funny?” Gotak asked, noticing Baku’s wide grin and the strange, almost gleeful energy radiating from him.

Baku didn't answer right away, instead scrolling through his phone one more time, his grin growing. He was clearly enjoying this.

“She didn’t pick up.” Baku said as an explanation, his voice unusually high-pitched with excitement.

Juntae, who had been quietly sipping his drink, raised an eyebrow, his confusion obvious. “So? It’s no big deal. She’s probably busy.”

Baku’s eyes flicked up to meet Juntae’s, the grin still wide on his face. “No, no, no, it’s a huge deal. She didn’t pick up...again.”

Gotak looked from Baku to Juntae, both equally confused, then turned back to Baku. “You’re acting weird. Why do you care so much? You’re acting like she hasn’t answered for a week.”

Baku laughed louder this time, almost too loud for the calm vibe of the table. “I don’t know, man. I just... I’m excited! She didn’t pick up and I think it’s a sign!”

Juntae and Gotak exchanged uncomfortable glances. Baku was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Sign of what?” Juntae asked cautiously, his tone skeptical. “That she’s busy?”

Baku’s grin didn’t falter as he leaned back in his chair, looking too pleased with himself. “No. It’s a sign that something’s happening between her and Sieun. I’m telling you, something’s going down between them.” He practically bounced in his seat, looking pleased with himself. “I knew it. They’ve been getting closer. My plan finally worked.”

Juntae raised an eyebrow, his face twisting in doubt. “I know you arranged tonight so they’d end up alone, but… Sieun? Are you sure about that? I mean, he’s been... well, distant with everyone.”

Baku’s grin didn’t fade. If anything, it grew. “Exactly! That’s why it’s so exciting. He’s not someone who just flirts with people, right? He’s been keeping it all to himself, but I can tell he’s totally into her! He acts different with her!“

He wasn’t about to tell them what Sieun had shared with him in confidence. That moment had meant something—Sieun had trusted him enough to say the kind of thing he never said out loud. Baku wasn’t going to break that.

Gotak snorted. “You’re talking like you’ve got a front-row seat to their love story.”

Baku laughed, nodding again. “I do! I’m not just their friend; I’m their matchmaker! I mean, come on, they’re practically perfect for each other. I knew from the start that this was going to happen. I just had to give them a little nudge.”

Baku leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin still on his face. He glanced at Gotak, who was still giving him a confused look. Baku couldn’t help but share just a little bit more of his excitement.

Gotak raised a brow. “What proof do you have , exactly? That she didn’t answer your call? You’re jumping to conclusions, Baku.”

Juntae nodded, quieter but equally skeptical. “Maybe her phone’s just on silent. Or she’s asleep.”

Baku scoffed, leaning forward now, eyes gleaming with something close to triumph. “Oh come on. You really think it’s just that? She hasn’t answered three calls. And she never ignores me. Not unless she’s… preoccupied.”

“Dude, you’re seriously making a whole story out of that?” Gotak said, shaking his head. “That’s not proof. That’s just your imagination going wild.”

Baku smirked, undeterred. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

“You?” Gotak said flatly.

“Alright,” Baku said, sitting up straighter. “Let’s make it interesting, then. I say something’s going on between Sieun and Y/N. If I’m right, you owe me fried chicken. If I’m wrong, I’ll cover lunch for a whole week.”

Gotak squinted at him. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Juntae glanced between them, clearly amused but staying out of the challenge.

Gotak gave in with a shrug. “Fine. But if you’re wrong, I want extra fries.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft sizzle of eggs in the pan and the hum of the morning air. You moved slowly, still a little tired but warm, wrapped up in the oversized black hoodie you’d slipped on the moment you got out of bed. His hoodie. It smelled like him—clean, subtle, and something you couldn't quite name but always noticed when he was close. You’d always wanted to wear it, and now that it was on you, it felt like a secret hug even when he wasn’t around.

It was now Sunday. You had spent the whole weekend together.

Sieun had run back to his place yesterday morning to grab a few things, but the rest of the time, he stayed at yours. It felt safer that way. Fewer chances of being interrupted.

It had been awkward at first. He didn’t seem to know what he was supposed to do—where to lie, how close was too close. His body had been stiff, his movements hesitant, like he was afraid of doing something wrong.

By the second night, things felt easier. He relaxed beside you, settling into the space you made for him. The way he curled toward you in his sleep, his breath soft against your shoulder… the way his fingers found yours in the dark, like it was second nature—it all felt strangely natural. It felt safe in his arms. Not just physically, but deeper than that. Like, for once, the world outside didn’t matter. You weren’t being judged or pressured. You were just… held.

You didn’t hear his footsteps, but you felt Sieun’s quiet presence suddenly behind you, his warmth pressing gently into your back.

Then, his arms wrapped around your waist.

Slow. Firm. Wordless.

You let out a small breath, your lips curving. “You’re awake.”

“Mhm.” His voice was husky, still laced with sleep, and it vibrated softly against your shoulder as he tucked his chin there.

“You stole it,” he murmured.

You tugged the hem shyly. “…I hope you don’t mind.” You said, watching his expression. “I’ve always kind of wanted to.”

Sieun didn’t say anything at first. His eyes dropped to the hoodie again, then flicked back to your face. He looked almost… soft.

“It suits you,” he said quietly.

Your heart stuttered. “I might not give it back, you know.”

His voice was calm, but there was a trace of fondness in it. “Then I’ll just steal one of yours.” You laughed, leaning more into him.

“I’m making breakfast.” You whispered, half turning your head toward him. He nodded only. He held you tighter for a second. His breath brushed your neck, his body curved around yours like he was trying to melt into you.

You turned in his arms, the warmth of his body still at your back as you faced him. He blinked, a little startled by the sudden movement, his hands instinctively resting at your sides.

Before he could say anything, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

It was soft—barely a moment—but it stole the breath right out of him.

His eyes widened, his entire body stiffening as if his brain was still trying to catch up. You could see the pink slowly rising in his cheeks, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You couldn’t help but grin as you watched the color bloom on his ears, his gaze stubbornly fixed to the side like the wall was suddenly fascinating.

“Your ears are red.” You said, trying not to laugh.

Sieun tensed. “No, they’re not.”

You stepped a little closer, tilting your head with mock curiosity. “They definitely are. You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.” He muttered, still not looking at you.

You leaned in, voice low and teasing. “It’s kind of cute… You weren’t this shy last night.”

You hadn’t gone all the way—nothing further than what had happened Friday night. But it was still good. Incredibly good.

That got him. His shoulders stiffened, and his eyes finally snapped to yours, wide with embarrassment. “Y-Yah—don’t say it like that.”

You giggled, absolutely delighted. “What? It’s true. You’re all serious and quiet again, but I remember how you looked when—”

Sieun clapped a hand gently over your mouth, face burning now. “Stop talking.” He whispered, voice tight but soft, like he didn’t know whether to be mortified or pull you closer again.

Turning back around, the smile still playing on your lips, you gently slid the freshly cooked egg onto the plate of kimchi fried rice, the soft sizzle filling the space between you.

Your phone buzzed again on the counter, Baku’s name lighting up the screen—his third call in the past hour. When you didn’t answer, it was Juntae’s turn to call.

You laughed quietly, the sound warm and lazy. “They really don’t give up, huh?”

Sieun, still hovering near you, glanced at the phone with a frown. You reached out and picked it up but didn’t answer right away.

“Can I answer them now?” You asked, turning to him with a soft smile. “They’ve been calling nonstop.”

Sieun looked at you for a long second—quiet, unreadable. Then, with a small exhale, he nodded, eyes flicking to the phone then away again.

“...Yeah.” He said quietly. “I guess we should let them know you’re not dead.”

You slid a plate onto the counter. “Here. Eat.”

He gave a small nod of thanks and slipped into the chair, his back now to you, already reaching for the food.

You swiped your finger across the screen and tapped the speaker button, bracing yourself for whatever chaos was about to unleash.

“Hello?” You answered, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

“Y/N?” Juntae’s voice came through, gentle and a bit uncertain. “Ah—sorry if I’m interrupting. Are you okay?” You could picture his furrowed brow.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for not answering sooner. I just needed a quiet weekend.”

You smiled to yourself, glancing at Sieun, who was quietly eating across from you.

There was a pause on the other end, and then a muffled rustling sound before Juntae spoke again. “It’s been two days. We were starting to get a little worried.”

In the background, you heard Gotak’s familiar, booming voice: “Tell her we thought she got kidnapped!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I’m fine.” You said. “I promise.”

Juntae, sounding slightly relieved, murmured, “Okay. That’s… good.”

Then Baku shouted again, “Ask her if Sieun’s still alive too!”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips. You kept your gaze on Sieun. He didn’t say anything, didn’t turn around, but you noticed the slight pause in his movements, the way his shoulders stiffened just enough to give him away.

“Sieun’s not here.” You said nonchalantly, eyes still on his back. “It’s just me.”

“Give me the phone! She’s lying.”

Your eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Baku fired back. “You’re lying through your teeth. Sieun’s there with you, isn’t he?”

Sieun still hadn’t turned around, but his fork hovered in mid-air for a second too long before he resumed eating, just a bit more slowly than before.

“Nope.” You said sweetly. “Just little ol’ me.”

Baku huffed. “Right. And what about the fact Sieun’s been MIA too, huh? He’s not answering his phone either. That’s way too convenient.”

You suppressed a grin. “Maybe he’s tired of you too.”

“Or maybe,” Baku continued smoothly, “He’s lying in your bed right now.”

You’re eyes widened in shocked amusement. “Wow. Jumping to conclusions, aren’t we?”

There was a pause, then his voice took on a slightly smoother edge. “You know, Y/N… your ballet performance? You were… kind of stunning. Not just the dancing. The way you looked on stage—man. It was something else.”

You blinked confused at the sudden change of conversation. “Uhm, thank you? I guess.” You replied, unsure if he was serious or just trying to throw Sieun off…

“I keep thinking about that dress you wore for the performance.” He added, teasing now.

Okay definitely the later…

Sieun didn’t say a word, but you saw it—the way his shoulders tightened slightly

“That white one,” Baku went on. “It hugged your body just right. Every turn, every step you took… it was impossible not to notice.”

You cleared your throat, your cheeks warming. “Baku.” You said, tone edged with warning.

“And the way the fabric shimmered under the spotlight? It made your skin look like it was glowing. Your arms, your back—don’t even get me started on your legs.” Sieun rose from his chair—slowly, silently. He still didn’t look at you, but his movements were calm, deliberate.

“I'm just saying,” Baku purred. “When you stepped on that stage, I thought—‘she could ruin me and I’d say thank you.’”

That was the last Sieun’s last straw.

He stepped over, and without a word, took the phone gently from your hand. His fingers brushed yours—warm, steady.

When he spoke, his voice was low, almost bored. But his eyes—cold and sharp—told another story.

“You’re too loud.” He said into the phone.

A beat of silence.

Then Baku’s voice erupted on the other end. “HA! I knew it! I told you, didn’t I? Now you can buy me—”

Beep.

Sieun pressed a button and ended the call with an emotionless flick of his thumb. He set the phone face down on the counter.

You turned to him, amused. “You didn’t like the compliments?”

“I didn’t like that they came from him.”

His eyes flicked to you and his gaze darkened slightly. “You looked better right now.” He said quietly, voice rough, “Hair still messy and in my shirt.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The next morning, you floated through the halls of the ballet academy with a lightness in your chest you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You’d kissed Sieun before leaving—just a soft press of your lips to his cheek as he mumbled something half-asleep. He’d wrapped his arms around you in return, slow and warm, holding on like he didn’t want to let go. It made leaving harder… but also, somehow, easier.

You danced like the air carried you. Even your teacher noticed.

“Light on your feet today,” She said as you held a balance mid-turn. “Good energy. Keep that.”

You smiled through your breathing, heart warm. If only she knew why.

The sun had risen higher when you finally left the academy alone, bag slung over your shoulder, hair pulled into a quick bun. There was a small ache in your muscles that felt earned. The street was quiet at first—just a few parked scooters and the hum of traffic down the block.

Then you saw them.

A small group of men loitered near the academy’s entrance gate—older, rougher around the edges, their presence too still, too intentional. One of them stood out, dressed in an orange jacket, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke curled lazily from his mouth as he stared down at his phone.

You felt it before he even looked up.

That drop in your stomach. That quiet instinctive alarm.

Then his head lifted. His eyes locked onto yours—and he smiled broadly.

But it wasn’t friendly. It was a grin stretched wide with some private joke you weren’t in on. Like he was already imagining something. Something you wouldn’t find funny at all.

“Hello, little ballerina.” He said, casual and amused. “Been meaning to talk to you.”

[jungkoode]

OFF-LABELS | O3

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Mature, 18+, suggestive tones.

→ DATE POSTED:

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents.

→ CONTENT in this chapter: Hoseok being a menace with medical terminology, innocent (but absolutely calculated) comments about oral muscle endurance, subtext so thick it's suffocating, plausible deniability at an elite level, flustered reader, casual intimacy that feels dangerous, and dinner table tension that might actually kill you.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2.2k

→ MINI SERIES: NEXT | PREVIOUS

→ A/N: Listen. I don't know what is wrong with me. I sat down to write something normal, and then suddenly I was researching orofacial muscle fatigue like a lunatic. WHY is this man like this? Why does he say things so kindly while ruining your life? Why is he explaining anatomy while looking directly at you like that? Anyway. This chapter is dedicated to anyone who has ever choked on their food while someone smiled at them way too nicely.

PLAYLIST

It starts in the kitchen.

Which is unfortunate, because the kitchen is small. And there are only so many places to stand before proximity becomes a problem.

You’re hyperaware of it—the space (limited), the air (too warm), him (entirely too close). But it’s fine. You’re fine. You’re just making tea, and he’s just existing, leaning against the counter like this is his apartment instead of your brother’s. Like he belongs here. Like his presence isn’t making it impossible for you to function like a normal person.

(He’s not even doing anything. Which somehow makes it worse.)

“I didn’t know you liked green tea.” His voice is easy, just conversational. Not a trap. Probably.

You don’t look at him. Can’t. “Yeah. I mean—I do. It’s good. Antioxidants and stuff.”

Brilliant. Truly stunning commentary.

Hoseok just hums, and you hear the soft clink of his rings against his glass as he lifts it to his lips. He’s drinking water, which seems unfair. Water is neutral. Water doesn’t require decisions. Meanwhile, you’re standing here, internally debating whether you’re taking too long to steep this tea, if leaving the bag in too long will make you seem weird, if—

“Relax, Chip.”

The words are casual. Just a little offhanded throwaway of a comment. But it lands like a dropped match, tiny but catastrophic.

You blink. Slowly. “What?”

Hoseok sets his glass down with a soft thud and turns to you fully, eyebrows lifted in lazy amusement. “You’re overthinking your tea.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s a thing people do—casually observe someone else’s entire internal meltdown and name it out loud.

Which, to be fair, is exactly what he’s doing.

Your ears feel hot. “I am not.”

“You are.”

He’s enjoying this. You can tell. It’s in the corner of his mouth, the hint of a smile he’s barely holding back. Not mean—just knowing.

And then it clicks. The name.

Chip.

“Wait,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Did you just call me—”

His grin sharpens, eyes flashing with something teasing, but infuriatingly innocent. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s no big deal. “Chip. Short for chipmunk.”

You stare at him. Your brain scrambles for a response and comes up with absolutely nothing.

He keeps going, undeterred. “You do this thing when you’re overthinking—” He gestures vaguely at your face, at you. “Your cheeks puff up. Just a little.”

Absolutely not. That does not happen.

Except—you know exactly what he’s talking about.

Which means he’s noticed.

You turn back to your tea, because looking at him feels impossible. “That’s not a real thing.”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” he says again, softer this time. Almost amused.

You risk a glance at him. He’s watching you, expression easy, mouth still curled slightly at the edges.

It’s not a big deal.

It’s just a nickname.

But you can feel it settling somewhere deep in your chest, warm and unwelcome, curling into the spaces he’s already managed to take up.

Chip.

You should tell him not to call you that.

You should absolutely, definitively tell him not to call you that.

But you don’t.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

That he’s just being himself—casual, playful, thoughtless in the way people like him can afford to be. That it’s just a nickname, not a calculated attack on your sanity.

And yet.

Yet.

You feel it every time he says it after that.

The first time, it’s two days later. He and your brother are in the living room, a game on in the background, when you walk by with your laptop. You aren’t even stopping—just passing through—when he glances up and says it like it’s always been your name.

“Where you off to, Chip?”

The sound of it makes you trip over your own feet. Embarrassingly. You don’t even answer, just keep walking, face burning, fully aware of the way he watches you go.

Then it happens again.

And again.

Sometimes it’s subtle, slipped in like an afterthought. “Hey, Chip, toss me that.” “You always this quiet, Chip?”

Other times it’s deliberate. Measured. Like he’s testing the weight of it, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll react.

You don’t.

You refuse.

(Which only seems to encourage him.)

And then one night, it’s just the two of you. Your brother’s in the shower, music spilling under the bathroom door, and you’re curled up on the couch, trying very hard to ignore the fact that Hoseok is sitting way too close for comfort.

His arm is slung over the back of the couch, loose and easy, and every so often, when you shift, your shoulder brushes against his.

(You should move. You should absolutely move.)

Instead, you stay where you are and pretend to be very, very interested in the show playing on the screen.

Hoseok shifts. You feel the weight of his attention before you see it.

“You don’t like it?”

You blink. “What?”

“The nickname.” His voice is low, smooth, barely above the sound of the TV. “You never say anything about it.”

You don’t know what to do with that. Don’t know what to do with him, watching you like he’s reading something written just under your skin.

“It’s fine,” you say, and it’s not convincing.

His lips twitch, but his voice stays neutral. “You sure?”

You nod, too quickly.

There’s a beat of silence. You can hear the shower running down the hall, the TV filling the air with white noise.

And then—so soft you almost don’t catch it—

“Good.”

It lingers in the space between you, something light, something easy. But you feel it settle somewhere deeper. Somewhere dangerous.

Because now, you know for certain.

He’s not going to stop.

And that’s the problem. It’s a problem. Because Hoseok is nice.

He’s just nice.

He’s warm and charming in a way that isn’t practiced—it just is. The kind of person who remembers how you take your coffee after hearing it once, who laughs with his whole chest, who makes people feel like they belong.

He’s good at things, too. Competent in that effortless way that makes it infuriatingly easy to admire him. You’ve seen him fix things around your brother’s apartment without being asked, roll up his sleeves and lean under the sink like it’s nothing, like he was built for it.

(Not that you were watching. Not that you noticed the way the muscles in his forearms shift when he grips a wrench.)

The point is—this is just how he is. With everyone.

So it’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Or at least, it would be, if he’d stop saying things.

Because then, it happens at dinner.

And the reason for Hoseok being here is simple.

He’s always here for dinner.

Not every night, but often enough that it’s routine. That your parents barely bat an eye when they see him at the table, that your mom still sets an extra plate for him when she cooks, that your dad asks about his job like he’s part of the family.

Because he might as well be.

He and Caleb have been friends since his first year of university—long enough for Hoseok to be comfortable in this house, for your parents to know his favorite foods, for you to be so used to him being around that you shouldn’t be affected by it anymore.

(And yet. And yet.)

Dinner is normal.

It’s just the five of you at the table, passing dishes around, the smell of takeout filling the air. The conversation is easy, punctuated by laughter, by the scrape of chopsticks against plastic containers.

It’s nice. It’s comfortable.

Or at least—it should be.

Except your eyes keep tracking him. They always do. The way he sits—too at ease, too familiar. The way his sleeves are pushed up just enough to be distracting. The way his fingers grip his chopsticks, loose and confident, movements fluid and practiced.

(It’s stupid. It’s stupid that you’re noticing these things.)

Your dad is asking Hoseok something about work, and you force yourself to focus, desperate to ground yourself in the conversation instead of spiraling into a pit of your own making.

“How are you managing, with the residency?”

“It’s been busy,” Hoseok says, setting his chopsticks down neatly. “But good. No complaints.”

Your mom tuts. “You work too much.”

Hoseok just smiles, warm and self-effacing. “It’s not so bad.”

Your dad nods approvingly. “That’s a good mindset. A little hard work never hurt anyone.”

“And at least someone in this house is doing it,” Caleb says, nudging you lightly under the table.

You roll your eyes. “I work plenty.”

“Studying doesn’t count,” Caleb argues, because he loves to be annoying.

“It literally does.”

Your mom sighs, long-suffering. “Can we have one meal where you two don’t bicker?”

You sit back in your chair, focusing very hard on your plate, on not looking at the person sitting just to your right. The conversation flickers and tumbles around you, but you don’t register much of it.

And then—

“You should use your mouth more, Chip.”

The table goes quiet.

Your heart stops.

Your stomach plummets.

Your entire soul leaves your body, hovering somewhere above the dinner table, watching this play out like a nightmare in slow motion.

Because—because—

He didn’t mean it like that. He can’t have meant it like that. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

Your dad is right there. Your mom is right there.

Hoseok is just sitting there, utterly relaxed, a picture of perfect innocence.

You’re the only one who reacts.

And that’s the problem.

Your brother—oblivious, as always—just scoffs. “I keep telling her that.”

The world tilts.

Your face burns.

Because Caleb just agreed. Like this is a normal conversation. Like this is fine.

And maybe it is fine.

Maybe you just missed something again—some context, some crucial piece of information that would make this make sense.

You frantically rewind the last few minutes, trying to figure out how this could possibly be about—

“She eats too fast,” Caleb continues, like he’s talking about the weather. “I’ve been saying it for years.”

Your entire body deflates.

Oh.

Oh.

It’s nothing.

It’s just about chewing. About how you’re always the first to finish your plate, about how your brother has been calling you out for it since you were kids.

You were imagining it.

Your hands are clammy. Your heartbeat is still a mess. But you take a slow breath, trying to pull yourself back together.

You force a weak, strangled sort of laugh. “Right. That.”

Hoseok hums, tilting his head slightly. “I wouldn’t say that.”

He taps his chopsticks against his lower lip, slow and thoughtful, as if genuinely weighing his next words. Then, with the kind of mild, absentminded curiosity that should not be dangerous but absolutely is, he continues—

“Oral muscles are surprisingly adaptable. With the right conditioning, they can handle prolonged exertion without fatigue.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Absolutely not.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the weight of his voice, the way the words land, the way your lungs forget how to function. You try—desperately—to convince yourself that he means nothing by it, that this is just a fun little fact, the kind of thing anyone might say in casual conversation.

(Except no one says things like that in casual conversation.)

Your parents don’t react. Your brother doesn’t even blink. They just keep eating like this is normal, like this is fine.

You, meanwhile, are staring at your plate, trying not to choke on air.

And just as you’re about to die from sheer mortification, he adds—

“For instance, brass players develop impressive endurance. Hours of embouchure control, you know?”

Embouchure control.

You think you might be having an out-of-body experience.

Because he’s not even looking at you. He’s just sitting there—calm, innocent, like he’s just making an offhand comment about music, like he’s not actively ruining your life.

It’s fine. It’s nothing. It’s science.

(Except it’s not.)

You need to leave.

You shove your chair back, your hands shaking. “I’m—gonna grab some water.”

Hoseok watches you go. You feel it.

At the sink, you grip the counter, staring hard at the faucet as you fill your glass.

It’s fine.

It’s nothing.

You’re imagining things.

It’s Hoseok being Hoseok—friendly, completely unaware of the way his words get tangled in your head, twisted into shapes they were never meant to take.

You gulp down half the glass, hoping it might cool the heat rising under your skin.

Behind you, the conversation moves on. Your dad is talking about a trip, your mom is mentioning something about the neighbors.

Everything is fine.

But when you turn back, Hoseok is still watching you.

Not in a way anyone else would notice—not in a way your brother does, too focused on his food, or in a way your parents would think twice about—but in a way that you notice.

In a way that makes something low in your stomach twist, tight and uncertain.

And then, like he knows, like he can read the exact trajectory of your thoughts, Hoseok smiles.

Soft. Innocent.

Like he didn't do anything at all.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[matchalovertrait]

Alegría v Caruso: Day 2, Pt. 3

"Please state your name for the court," Isabela requested.

"Enzo Bianchi."

"And what is your profession?"

"I am a chef, instructor, and culinary consultant," he began. "I currently hold a senior faculty position at the Santoro Academy of Culinary Arts, one of the most prestigious cooking institutions in Italy."

"Impressive," Isabela remarked. "And in your time at the academy, you've taught many students who have gone on to have successful careers, correct?"

"Yes. Many of my former students work at well-known restaurants or own thriving businesses."

"And you were the instructor of both Mr. Caruso and Ms. Alegría?"

"Yes, I had them in my class for a few semesters. I am quite familiar with their food and temperaments by now."

Isabela nodded. "So in your professional opinion, who was the stronger chef of the two?"

"By far, it was Mr. Caruso. Last I heard, he is a sous chef at a fantastic establishment. The place keeps popping up on my TikTok's 'For You' page in those 'Top 10 Places You Must Visit in Del Sol Valley' videos. I glow with pride every time it's mentioned."

Dulce stomach churned from the betrayal she felt. She had looked up to Bianchi and often visited him during office hours. He always told her how proud he was of her. The last thing she expected was for him to be a sellout.

Isabela continued, "How would you describe Ms. Alegría as a student?"

"She had passion, but she was impulsive with her ideas. Less disciplined."

Antonio quickly stepped in to counter. "Mr. Bianchi, I'd like to clarify something. You say Ms. Alegría was impulsive, yet isn't it true that she consistently outperformed Mr. Caruso?"

"Grades don't always reflect real-world skill," Bianchi replied promptly.

"No, but they can reflect consistency and dedication. Was she not one of the top students in the school's program?"

Bianchi seemed to shift with discomfort. "Yes, but Ms. Alegría ignored structure and experimented wildly. Sometimes her ideas worked, sometimes they didn't."

Dulce's eyes widened. That was only like, two times! And we all had a good laugh if an idea of mine failed terribly. In my defense, they were on Chapter 3, and I was already on Chapter 20.

Isabela smirked. "So, would it be fair to say that Ms. Alegría has a history of being unpredictable? Not as skilled as she seems?"

"Yes, I would say so. It doesn't seem farfetched to me that Mr. Caruso would be the victim here. Ms. Alegría could have manipulated him, made him feel like they were close, taken his ideas, and disposed of him once he wasn't needed anymore—especially if her own ideas didn't work."

Antonio gritted his teeth. That's not Dulce. Never in a million years. She is not like him.

"And yet, Ms. Alegría's so-called 'impulsiveness' led her to be one of the best in the program. 'Innovative' would be a better descriptor. Is that not a characteristic an exceptional chef would have?"

"..Well, yes. But she was more 'gimicky' than 'innovative.' Nothing groundbreaking. She had many failed ideas."

"But her innovative mind and perseverance are the very things that made her the creator of those recipes. Wouldn't you agree that Ms. Alegría has a unique style?"

Bianchi hesitated, "Yes, but not a very good one."

"That's not something her many fans would agree with. She stands out in a competitive industry with her flair. She takes risks, and they usually pay off. Isn't that what separates good chefs from great ones?"

Bianchi stayed quiet.

"The truth is, Ms. Alegría's recipes are hers. Not Mr. Caruso's. You just admitted she has a distinctive style, one that makes her stand out. And that style is apparent in the recipes—recipes that are not Mr. Caruso's. Should we compare the notebook entries to years-old videos from her channel?"

The jurors whispered to each other. Bianchi was speechless while Isabela tried not to let her anger show.

Antonio let the silence marinate in the air before closing off with, "No further questions."

That marked the end of Day 2. Unlike the chaos of Day 1, today had gone much smoother. But they had to make sure the momentum carried onto Day 3: The final day.

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

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